“No—no—no. Of course not. He’ll come back with his pockets full of champagne, and his heart come to life. I like you, you know. I think you’re fine. You’re so damn good to look at, too. Ever hear of the purple patch?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Just thinking you’ve the leading light in your eyes that should guide a man there. Good-night.”
“Good-night, Uncle Clem.”
At two o’clock Eve took off her pretty frock, put on her plain cotton nightdress, and went to bed.
PART SEVEN
—WHO TRAVELS ALONE”
I
In the weeks following it was made clearly evident that Wynne Rendall was taking no precautions that his wife should share his new prosperity. Conceivably he thought that the mere sharing of his name—a name which had sprung into such instant prominence—was adequate compensation for any woman.
The newspapers had given him unsparing praise, and already he had been approached by several managements with a view to undertaking their productions. To these offers he shook his head, replying that he was a writer by profession and not a producer.
In an interview he told the reporter that he only worked in the direction of his ambitions, and for the moment his ambitions were satisfied.