I was just starting the want ads when the knock came at the door. It was the maid, again; the jeweler was at the house.
A small man, suave and dark, with the manners of a diplomat, fawning like a puppy.
It was a perfect stone, he decided. He had, he was sure, a customer who would be interested. Would I accept eight thousand dollars for it?
I said I would, and he left.
We were in the living room, and Jean stood near the tall front windows. She had changed to a suit of some soft blue material.
"As soon as I get the money," I said, "we're going out for some fun, aren't we? I owe you for a beef barbecue."
"You don't owe me anything," she said. She didn't look at me.
"You'll get over him," I said.
"Him—?" She turned to look at me curiously.
"That man you're in love with, that man you told me about last night."