``Hm-m,'' commented Calderwell again,
ignoring the question. ``And when, may I ask,
do you intend to appropriate this--er--salt
--to--er--ah--season your own life with,
as I might say--eh?''

Arkwright laughed. There was not the slightest
trace of embarrassment in his face.

``Never. _You're_ on the wrong track, this time.
Alice and I are good friends--always have been,
and always will be, I hope.''

``Nothing more?''

``Nothing more. I see her frequently. She is
musical, and the Henshaws are good enough to
ask us there often together. You will meet her,
doubtless, now, yourself. She is frequently at
the Henshaw home.''

``Hm-m.'' Calderwell still eyed his host
shrewdly. ``Then you'll give me a clear field,
eh?''

``Certainly.'' Arkwright's eyes met his friend's
gaze without swerving.

``All right. However, I suppose you'll tell me,