“Nothing particular,” he replied, “except that I want to run down to Washington some time during the month.”
“You see,” Monty explained, “Steve is a great authority on the tariff. The Secretary of the Treasury does nothing without consulting him. He has to go down and help the cabinet out.”
“That’s hardly true,” Denby said mildly, “but I have friends in Washington nevertheless.” It was obvious Monty was not taken in by this. He only regarded his friend as a superb actor who refused to be frightened by the hourly alarms his faithful assistant took to him with fast-beating heart. Young Vaughan told himself a dozen times a day that this excitement, this suspicion of the motives of all strangers, was undermining his health. He had complained of the dull evenness of his existence before meeting Denby in Paris, but he felt such a lament could never again be justified. He found himself unable to sit still for long. He marvelled to see that Denby could sit for hours in a deck-chair talking to Alice without seeming to care whether mysterious strangers were eyeing him or not.
“I asked you,” Mrs. Harrington went on, “because, if you’ve nothing better to do, will you spend a week with us at Westbury? Michael will like you, and if you don’t like Michael, there’s something seriously wrong with you.”
“I’d love to come,” he said eagerly. “Thank you very much.”
“Hooray,” said Monty. “Alice, you’re a sweet soul to ask him. Of course he’ll like Michael. Who doesn’t?”
“Everybody ought to,” she said happily. “Do you know, Mr. Denby, I’m one of the only three women in our set who still love their husbands. I wouldn’t tell you that except for the reason you’ll find out. He’s the most generous soul in the world and when I go to him with a bank-book that won’t balance, he adds it up and says I’ve made a mistake and that I’m on the right side. How many husbands would do that?”
“I might,” Monty asserted, “because I can’t add up long columns, but Michael’s a demon at statistics, or used to be.”
“He’s such an old dear,” Mrs. Harrington went on. “His one peculiar talent is the invention of new and strange drinks. I never come back from any long absence but he shows me something violently colored which is built in my honor. And Monty will tell you,” she added laughing, “that I have never been seen to shudder while he was looking. Have I, Monty?”
“You’re a good sport,” said Monty, “and if ever I kill a man, it will be Michael, and my motive will be jealousy.”