She despatched the maid with the key to the wall safe in her husband's
room. "Why isn't there?" she demanded. "Rodney won't look at young
girls. They bore him to death--and no wonder, because he freezes them
perfectly brittle with fright. But Hermione's really pretty intelligent.
She can understand fully half the things he talks about and she's clever
enough to pretend about the rest. She's got lots of tact and skill,
she's good-looking and young enough--no older than I and I'm two years
younger than Roddy. She'll appreciate a real husband, after having been
married five years to John Woodruff. And she's rich enough, now, so that
his wild-eyed way of practising law won't matter."

"All very nice and reasonable," he conceded, "but somehow the notion of
Rodney Aldrich trying to marry a rich widow is one I'm not equal to
without a handicap of at least two cocktails." He looked at his watch
again. "By the way, didn't you say he was coming early?"

She nodded. "That's what he told me this morning when I telephoned him
to remind him that it was to-night. He said he had something he wanted
to talk to me about. I knew I shouldn't have a minute, but I didn't say
so because I thought if he tried to get here early, he might miss being
late."

They heard, just then, faint and far-away, the ring of the door-bell, at
which she cried, "Oh, dear! There's some one already."

"Wait a second," he said. "Let's see if it's him."

The paneled walls and ceiling of their hall were very efficient
sounding-boards and there was no mistaking the voice they heard speaking
the moment the door opened--a voice with a crisp ring to it that sounded