"Is he married already? That would be binding!"
"No. I don't know," Dee amended with a startled realisation of how little she did know in comparison with what she felt. "He might just as well be. I'll never see him again."
"I would," asserted Pat. "If it was that way with me. If he was the only one."
"Of course he's the only one. Could you feel that with any man? I can't understand that," marvelled Dee.
"Oh, no! Not with just anyone. I'd have to like him. Quite a good deal. It isn't so hard to like 'em when they make love to you. But I'm off'n that stuff," sighed Pat, turning demure. "There's nothing in it." Again she thought of Mr. Scott and that evening of disastrous revelation at the club. His influence had persisted. She quite prided herself that it had. She had thought much about him as one might think of a benign guardian and had written once to bespeak the continuance of their friendship. "How's Con's affair coming on?" she asked, as a logical mental sequitur.
"With Cary Scott? He's away. Back in Paris for a couple of months' stay."
"Do you like him, Dee?"
"Yes. A lot."
"He isn't the man, is he?" demanded Pat sharply.
Dee's laughter was refutation enough. "Catch me poaching Connie's game. It couldn't be done."