Justin turned off the water, tossed the girl a towel, escorted his wife to the bedroom, shutting the bathroom door behind them. He glanced for the first time at the clock beside the telephone, discovered it was past two A.M. Ortine had had his little joke—instead of returning them to the banker's house at the moment of his first summons, he had allowed a few hours to elapse.
"What are you smiling about?" Marie asked him sharply. "I was coming in to tell you I met a rather fascinating friend of yours—a Mrs. Forrester—tonight. She suggested I drop in to give you her regards before I turned in. And here I find you...."
"Did she give you a Cuban cigarette?" Justin asked mildly.
"Don't joke—your taste is sufficiently bad as it is."
"Well," said Justin, feeling almost grateful to Ortine for forcing the issue into the open, "I suppose it had to happen sometime. We haven't been of much use to each other lately."
"I wouldn't exactly say that," replied Marie, sitting down and tilting a cigarette for him to light. "After all, I wonder just how far you'd have got without me, Charles."
"And that makes a marriage?" Justin asked sharply.
Marie shrugged disinterestedly. "There are all kinds of marriages." She yawned, added, "Where'd you pick her up? At a servants' costume ball?"
"Not exactly," Justin told her. "Actually it's been a rather remarkable evening."
"I bet it has!" Marie's tone was sharp. "Well, what are you going to do about it, Charles?"