The Emancipated Man

Going aboard for the flight back east, Walter Hardesty was greeted by a stewardess at the top of the ramp. There had been a time, a recent time, when Walter might have winked at her, when he might have made one of those yearning, suggestive and usually graceless remarks that define a hopelessly married man. There had been that time and now it was behindWalter Hardesty forever. He was still a married man; indeed his marriage was essential to his scheme of things. But now Walter was an emancipated married man, and on him it showed. He smiled at the pretty stewardess with a warm, piercing, knowing benevolence; her standard airlines smile of greeting teetered on her face and then turned into another kind of smile entirely. Her trim standard airlines figure made Walter a gesture that was somewhere between a little bow and the beginning of an old-fashioned curtsy; the pencil she held over her clipboard made an unintended mark.

Walter passed into the airplane. He smiled at a second stewardess with much the same effect. She busied herself about his comfort although the airplane was filling with passengers and this was not the time for such attentions. Walter did not find them excessive.

He had more than any single reason to be pleased with himself. His trip West had been a complete success. The senior partner himself had sent Walter a wire that not only congratulated him but suggested the possibility of a partnership for Walter. There was also in the wire a kind of waggish codicil that further congratulated Walter on his dashing but correct Eastern behavior in the California fleshpot. Old Mr. Quayle did not often congratulate anybody about anything, but Walter now remembered that once at the middle of the bar at The Briars old Mr. Quayle had roguishly ordered a third martini and had then roguishly said that by God he had as good an eye for a leg as any man.

"I put it to you, gentlemen," old Mr. Quayle had said, "a man is less than a man if he doesn't have an eye for a leg. A pretty leg, of course, it goes without saying."

Perhaps the assent of the juniors had been too enthusiastic, especially of the juniors of Mr. Quayle's own firm. Walter remembered that the old man had then abruptly reminded them that they were all married men. Bewildered, the other juniors had drifted back to the juniors' end of the bar. For Walter, still a junior himself, it had been a moment of decision. He had stayed, and talked shop with the old man. It had meant making himself conspicuous but it had also meant informing old Mr. Quayle that Walter was not naive. Such decisions, such manipulations at the personal level, were not the only means of Walter Hardesty's rise in the law firm of Quayle, Quayle and Parkhoe. But certainly they had never held him back.

Now, the seat-belt routine over, Walter lit his first cigarette of the flight. Inevitably, somebody tried to balance a half dollar on edge and one of the stewardesses brought Walter coffee and a newspaper. The paper had been open ed and fold ed back at a gossip column.

"We've been reading about you," the stewardess said.

"I'm disappointed," Walter said. "I thought I was getting by on my lovely disposition."

"Maybe you will, " the stewardess said.

Walter had already read the column but he read it again, and not without pride, his eye isolating the paragraph that said that he, Walter Hardesty, and Jean Woodville had been seen together, publicly, and again. There had been other such items, in other such columns. The reporting had always been perfunctory or irritable because the columnists hated Woodville because she hated them. Jean Woodville was one of the last of the moving picture stars in the great tradition. For sound reason she had never appeared in the legitimate theatre: in front of a camera she could act as though she could act. By press agentry and by multiple marriage, by the exploitation of her many affairs, by an accretion of queenly attitudes and by her astounding beauty she had wrapped herself in glamor and legend. At the exact instant when she could afford to spit on columnists and reporters she had spat. Her style was an anachronism, and a valuable property. It bemused the American housewife and filled theatres. And with her Walter Hardesty had committed splendid adultery, many times over.

"You wonderful wonderful lover," she said on the morning of what was supposed to be their last night together.

"Don't go."

"What?" Walter said. "Will you marry me?"

"Don't laugh at me," Woodville said.

"Desert my wife and children? "Walter said. The whole experience had exhilarated him, had put him into having a new perspective; but he had never lost his head.

"I tell, you, stop it," Woodville said.

"All right, " Walter said "I'll bet I'm a lot sorrier than you are that it's all over."

"Shoving wife and children at me " Woodville said. She was falling into some kind of mood. "I never shoved anything at you."

"Why," Walter said, "you did too."

"Oh shut up " she said. She sat on the edge of the bed and shook out her blonde hair. Then she padded to a window and looked out -- and displayed herself. Her figure was marvelous. Walter knew that she kept a Swedish masseuse full time. He guessed that the Woodville could not be much less than forty-five, possibly fifty. In the course of one of those lover's explorations that while any restorative time he had discovered the little fine scars hidden within her hairline.

"Shoving marriage at me " she said now. "I know what kind of marriage you've got. You wouldn't break it up for worlds. It would wreck your little career."

"You're absolutly right " Walter said.

"Darling," Woodville said, "you're so strong." She padded back to Walter. "You're tough. Why didn't I meet you years ago?"

"Thank God you didn't " Walter said.

"Where would I be now"

She began to laugh. " you're a bastard too, darling Darling " she said, "will you be sent West again if my lawyers need another conference?"

"They won't," Walter said. "You re forgetting that I came out to liquidate your Eastern properties. The new estate is all set up."

"So I am," she said. "Isn't that cute. What are we talking like this for when we're like this?"

"I was wondering," Walter said.

Presently she said in a drowsy singsong way: "Darling."

"Hm?" Walter said.

"Gonna tell?"

"Tell?" Walter said. "Tell who? Tell what?"

"Wake up, darling." She leaned on one elbow. "Gonna brag about this?

When you're out with the boys? At your club?"

"Kiss and tell?" Walter said "What do you think I am?"

"A liar, darling."

"Well nobody'd believe it," Walter said.

"It's been syndicated " Woodville said.

"Not this," Walter said. "There hasn't been a word in the papers about this."

"That's because I know how to handle these things, darling. And because I have a few of the right kind of friends. Oh," she said, "don't look at me like that. I don't like that look. I know it too well, darling. I'm no harlot, or nympho either. If you could see the types that try to make score in this town ay making score with me you'd see that this can't happen very often."

She was trying to tell him something and Walter wasn't too sure it was something he wanted to hear.

"I know what I've settled for," the Woodville said, "but that doesn't take away my right to cherish an illusion once in a while or even believe in it. I want to think that you loved me and I loved you and that it's our secret. I want to think that it will be something you can warm yourself by someday, when your world turns cold."

She was, Walter thought, reading, her lines of renunciation straight out of one of her nobler roles. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Why," he said, "that's the way I want to think of it, too."

How nice "she said.

"Well,"Walter said, "it's the truth."

But the Woodville mood was shifting. Presently she said: "I don't care if you tell your wife, though."

"What? Walter said.

"Oh, she'd forgive you," Woodville said.

Walter laughed "You're out of your mind,"he" said. "You've lived in a dream world too long. you don't know my wife."

"No, but I know women, darling." She leaned over him. "What's she like, your wife?"

Walter felt uncomfortable all over again. Woodville had become stretched and luxurious, her mouth curved, smiling, avid. She leaned closer. "Tell mp " she said.

You know women " Walter said.

"I know women," Woodvile said. "I want to know about a particular nice safe protected housewife, darling. One that has an unfaithful husband."

"Hey," Walter said "Foul."

"You started this, darling."

"I did not!"

"Just a poor little lamb." Woodville's eyes glittered.

"This is a hell of a mood you're in," Water said.

"No, hellish. I want to know where did you meet her. I want to know what does she look like.I want to know did you go to bed together before you were married. I want to hear you telling me,"

"Stop it Walter said.

"I'm just good for fun and games. That's been established, darling."

"What do you want to know all that for, anyway?" Walter said.

"Curiosity. Cats and women."

"More than curiosity," Walter said.

"Oh, a clever. A lawyer. Name it, then."

"I don't know," Walter said. He meant it.

"I believe you, aren't you lucky." Woodville squirmed as though possessed of some delicious sensation. "What does she look like?"

"Well," Walter said, "she's dark and kind of thin--slender, I guess you'd say. Very intense."

"Why, he's talking. Is she intense about you?"

"She's intense about what I do, my job."

"Onward and upward."

"Well that's important to a woman. I thought you said you knew women."

"Don't think I don't, darling. There's always something to learn about men, too. Did you sleep together before you were married."

"Yes," Walter said.

In his affair with lean Woodville Walter Hardesty had made a major adjustment in his life, an adjustment that he had recognized, in the making it, as long overdue. There had been a deep need in him to affirm himself as a man. Now Woodville had uncovered another deep need in him. Walter talked.

• • •

In the beginning, Walter said, well--just where were a man's beginnings? Walter remembered himself on the campus of the state university, sure enough of himself in a way, but aloof, careful to make no abiding friendships. Of course you could go back farther than that for the sources of his sense of destiny: the thing was, it all began to shape up at Harvard Law School. Here Walter permitted himself some tentative friendships; here Walter with great attention to the offhandedness of his manner, expose himself to men with family connections. And here Walter met a girl name Beth Parkhoe.

The name Parkhoe meant nothing to Walter--imagine that for naivety--and Beth was certainly not the most beautiful girl in the world dark, thin, pretty enough in a way and with strange intensity about her. Bud she kept cropping, in Walter's life it seemed that she knew the sisters of some of the men he was trying to cultivate, and after a while Walter started missing her. He wanted to (continued on page 136)Emancipated Man(continued from page 52) see more of her, and he told her so.

"Do you ?" Beth said. "Well that's nice. "But don't propose to me yet, dear. Father says I simply have to get my Master's"

Walter had no intention of proposing to her, but unquestionably there was a warmth between them, warmth that blazed up suddenly and unexpectedly one night when they were dancing at some country club somebody had taken them to. Beth wasn't a very good dancer and she didn't like it much but that night she had seemed inspired. And then they were out in Beth's car, first in the front seat and then in the back. And then Beth said: "I'm damned if I'm going to do it this way darling, Darling, you do mean it, don't you."

"God yes, Walter said.

"Well I'm going to go back in there and phone my roommate. She'll have to go to a hotel tonight."

"Just like that?" Walter said.

"I did it for her " Beth said.

Walter was really rather inexperienced and so was Beth, beyond a certain point. The whole thing had an endearing quality of clumsiness that invited tenderness: by morning she was unique in Walter's eyes and he had declared his love.

"Darling. I've loved you for a long time," Beth said. "I wonder if I'm going to have a baby," she said.

"A baby?" Walter said. "Why particularly?"

"I feel most like this when, I'm most likely to have a baby," Beth said. "That's why dear."

"Well." Walter said, "it doesn't matter."

"Why darling," Beth said. "Are you proposing to me?"

"I haven't got much to offer you," Walter said. "I haven't got anything yet, really."

"Well,"Beth said, "it doesn't matter. Maybe I've got something to offer you, dear."

That was how Waller learned that Beth was the daughter of Parkhoe of Quayle, Quayle and Parkhoe, patricians of the law and one of the great firms that had been beyond Walter Hardesty's brightest hopes.

"It simply never occurred to me," he said to Beth. "I mean, about your name." Then he said: "Supposing your father doesn't like the idea of our getting married." Even then Beth had the effect on Walter of making him re-examine his ground. "I admire arrogance," she had once said. "But it must be controlled arrogance."

"Why not wait and see dear," she said now. "There's one thing you can be sure of -- he's no fool."

There was no question of that in Walter's mind after he had met Mr. Parkhoe. Beth's father as a small and dapper and intense man of great dignity. He asked Walter where he'd gone to school, momentarily looked puzzled, and never referred to the matter again. When they met a second time it was clear to Walter that Mr. Parkhoe had been talking to the dean and that the conversation had not been entirely about Walter saw school record, which was excellent. Presently Mr. Parkhoe began talking to Walter about new blood, in the family and in the firm. If Walter notice the dull red coloring over Mr. Parkhoe's cheekbone he did not then see it as an intimation of mortality. Walter Hardesty's sense of destiny was in already conjoined in the body of Beth Parkhoe lent he realized that Mr. Parkhoe had probably known about that. Beth's father was capable of sentiment but not gratuitousness.

"I never had a son, " he told Walter, "and I'm never going to have one, I know. But don't expect me to push you. Don't expect me to help you, even.

But of course it helped when Darcy Parkhoe made them a wedding resent of the old Burleigh house that Beth had her heart set on; and it helped when he helped them furnish it. And of course it helped, to be a partner's son-in-taw. That helped while Walter was, finding direction in the firm, it helped while Walter was being, assimilated by new milieu, it helped when Walter was put up for The Briars. It all helped greatly; and Walter was relieved when Darcy Parkhoe suddenly died four years later. It was the end Walter thought, of a gratitude that it was Walter's nature to feel and that it was Darcy Parkhoe's nature to stifle. Walter Hardesty wanted very badly to be his own man in Quayle, Quayle and Parkhoe: in the succeeding months he began to wonder if he ever could be, because he was married to Beth Parkhoe and because there was really no end to gratitude.

"How I hate it when you get into this stupid mood. " Beth said. "Has anybody, ever, asked gratitude of you? You're making your own way in the firm very well. You always have, and you know it. Do you think we'd have chosen you it we hadn't known you could do it?"

"We?" Walter said. "Chosen?"

"Don't yell at me like that, " Beth said.

"It seems to me that you' re putting -- things on a pretty calculated basis, at this late date,"Walter said.

"Well dear " Beth said, "Father knew Billie Smythe and Bob Hasketh and quite a few other boys who've since done quite well. And so did I. So I suppose you can say we chose you."

"But I thought you and I fell in love," Walter said.

"So we did, dear. So we did. Post hocergo propter hoc." Beth was getting mad.

So was Walter. "And that's on a pretty calculated basis, too." he said. "Calculated?" Beth said.

"Measured. Apportioned. Doled out."

They where both angry and Walter expected Beth to flare up. But instead she started to laugh."Poor darling, you are feeling sorry for yourself, aren't you."

"Stop patting me on the head with a lot of evasive answers, " Walter said.

"Female answers, dear," Beth said. "I'm just a female and I can't help my rhythms. You should know that by now. And I told you right at the beginning, too.

"Female rhythms," Walter said.

"Darling," Beth said, "sometimes I wish Q., Q. and P. handled divorce actions and they dropped them all on your desk. Sometimes I wish you'd known more about women before we were married, darling."

Certainly nothing leaped full blown in Walter's mind from that interchange with Beth but certainly Walter did begin to think of things he had heard at The Briars on guest nights. On guest nights certain set rains were et aside: it had bee n on a guest night that old Mr.Quayle had made his startling remark about appreciating a girl's leg: it had been on a guest night that Jack Hodges of Hodges, Paine had caused an admiring stir by failing to deny that he was paying the rent of an apartment in Boston. And it was an open secret that when Freddy Partile's harebrained mare at last succeeded in throwing him, a stunning girl had come up from New York and stayed at the inn until Freddy was out of danger. Seniors all, admittedly: but the day could not be far oil when Walter would make that symbolic move and be privileged to order his drinks at the senior and of the bar.

In that luxurious hideaway of can Woodville's his senses assuaged, perhaps numbed a little, sharing the Woodville's favorite champagne breakfast. Walter felt marvelously unburdened. "You're the clever," he said to Woodville. "You knew I needed to talk."

Woodville swept a great wing of hair in front of her face and shook.

"Did I make a joke?" Walter said.

Woodville looked out. "No," she said "You're the joke, darling."

"I haven't time to sort that one out," Walter said. " I hate to bring the subject up," he said, "but has that confidential and secret secretary of ours got everything cleared so that I can get out of I haven't a lot of time left to check out of the hotel and make my flight"

"Darling " Woodville said, very singsong and drawly.

Listen, I don't want to get in a rush, Walter said.

"That confidential secretary of mine," Woodville said, "has changed your booking. Your flight is tomorrow, darling."

"What?"Walter said.

"Surprise, surprise."

"I'l have to send some wires " Walter said. "Right away."

"Yes," Woodville said, "you'll certainly have to send some wires." She smiled. "But not right away, darling."

Now in the airplane flying East Walter wondered what the Woodville had been trying to prove in holding him up for that extra twenty-four hours. Perhaps he should have been flattered and perhaps he had been, in a way. but it had revealed an unfortunate side of Woodville's character, a viciousness, almost, certainly a commonness that she had seemed no longer able to restrain. In that last day with Walter Hardesty can Woodville had lived up to the worst of her reputation.

The stewardess took away Walter's empty cup and asked him about breakfast.

"Champagne," Walter said. "I feel like a champagne breakfast.

"Oh dear," the stewardess said. "Well, there is some. Would you drink it out of a plain glass?

"Or your slipper,"Walter said.

"Oh, Mr. Hardesty!" the stewardes said.

The wine taste marvelous. And the stewardess wanted payment. "What's she like, Mr. Hardesty?"the stewardess said. "What's Jean Woodville really like?"

"Why," Walter said, "she's a blonde."

"I know I mean--"

"I mean," Walter said, "she's a real blonde."

"Oh," the stewardess said, "Mr. Hardesty!" Her face turned pink and she began to giggle. "If that isn't the cutest thing," she said. Excuse me for a minute. She walked forward and joined the other stewardess; presently Walter heard them both laughing quietly in the galley.

Walter wondered if he could think up a few more like that. Of course that one could be use d over again. They'd be asking him at the bar of The Briars, certainly. "What's' she like, Walt?" Walter could imagine Bob Hasketh, say, or young Smylthe, asking.

No use throwing it away without a, build-up. " Gentleman " Walter would say," I was always under the impression that The Briars was a gentlemen's club."

"Well, so it is." That would be young Smythe, a slow sketch.

"Gentlemen don't tell."

"Only if they haven't been kissed." Cynical Ted Sloan had joined the fascinated group.

"Come on, come on, Walt. Give," Bob Hasketh said.

"Gentlemen" Walter said. "The lady is a blonde."

"Oh, news."

"Come off it, Walt."

"Coy boy,"

"Level with us, Walt."

"I mean, gentlemen," Walter said, "she is a real blonde."

Walter savored the ripple of amusement that would run down the bar. Amusement, and respect. Because Walter Hardesty would be serving notice on them all that he was his own man, that he was not smothered in the mantle of Darn Parkhoe.

Of course it would be different with the seniors. Walter could imagine old Mr. Quayle going at it very obliquely. "I knew you were the man for the mission, Walter," Mr. Quayle would say. "I trust that you incidentally enjoyed yourself while you represented us on the Coast, Walter."

"Yes, sir, "Walter said.

"Completely, I hope."

"Completely, sir."

"Splendid. Was it not Goethe, Walter, who saw the pretty girl and said: 'Ah, to be eighty again.'"

I can't imagine, sir, Walter said, "what brought that to your mind."

"Thank you for that compliment Walter."

Looking, down on the clouds, Walter knew that this was more than mere daydreaming. It was the way it was going to be. The standards of that milieu Walter Hardesty had entered by his Parkhoe marriage were subtle. But Walter had studied them carefully. He felt very sure, and sure that if any of it did get back to Beth it would get back to her in such a way that she would be unable to frame an accusation. It was true that the women had a grapevine, in fact many an amusing secret had been spilled by some wife who could not resist telling her husband, who would later retail it at The Briars. But it was a one-way avenue. Few secrets ever got out of The Briars.

Walter was not worried about Beth, but he decided that he'd better stopthinking about it. It was time to circulate a little, time to enjoy the flight. Quayle, Quayle and Parkhoe did not often afford such luxuries of chrome and glitter and leatherette, even to prospective partners.

Walter Hardesty let down in New York with the names, addresses and telephone numbers of the two stewardesses, an three or the female passengers. Waller knew the improbability of his using these fruits of his sin; still there was no sense in being ungracious, in refusing that so graciously offered. And, you never could tell. He taxied from the airport to the garage in upper Manhattan where he'd left his car and spent Another hour fighting his way to the parkway. He supposed he should have taken a train down in the first place, or one of those DC-3 feeders, but he had wanted some part of his traveling to be under his own control.

It was a long drive, though, and it was dark by the time Walter reached his house. "Darling!" Beth said, coming out to the apron in front of the garage. Walter winced. Beth rarely called him darling. "Is it really You?" Beth said.

"Yes," Walter said. He hadn't thought kissing her would be such a bad moment. "Yes," he said. "It's really me. Where are the kids?"

"In bed," Beth said, "and very snarly because I wouldn't let them stay up an longer."

"Well " Walter said, "I'd better go up and see them."

"I wish you'd telephoned from New York," Beth said. "You know how I hate those damned, airplanes."

"Why," Walter said, "I was in such a rush, Beth. Such a rush to get going home."

"The way you were yesterday," Beth said.

"I explained all that in my wire," Walter said.

"Wire," Beth said. "You could have telephoned yesterday, too."

"Now Beth." Walter said. "This isn't like you."

"No," she said, "it isn't, is it. All right," she said, "strike all that. I'm really just trying to tell you I'm glad you're home safe, dear."

"Well," Walter said, "I'm glad to be home.

"At last," Beth said.

"At last," Walter said.

Those first moments, Walter thought later in the evening, were the worst. They were bound to be, of course. But now they were over. Walter was not yet completely at ease, he was unprepared for the way the familiar shared objects of his household seemed to stand in rebuke; but he was talking. Beth's interest in an involved legal problem could always be counted on, and the first, worst, moments were over.

There would be another moment later, possibly, though certain it was long established that Beth was not an impulsive girl in that respect. Walter, loquacious on aspects of California court views and aiding himself with yet another Scotch highball, considered it highly likely that he would sleep in his dressing room tonight. The signals about that were very simple: if Walter said he was tired that meant he preferred to sleep alone. If Beth mentioned that she was tired it meant that Beth preferred to sleep alone. Usually one or the other of them said it. Walter just hoped that it would be Beth who said it first, tonight.

"So you enlarged the fabulous actress' wealth and made her very happy and grateful," Beth said. She stood up and began moving aimlessly about the room. "Did you enjoy your reward?" Beth said.

"Well," Walter said, "it wasn't exactly a reward. The Woodville thinks she has a sharp mind. Her attorneys were glad to turn a little of the persuading over to me."

"At Romanoff's."

Walter smiled. "That's not the way they pronounce it out there."

"Well I expect they pronounce bed the way I do."

"Now Beth," Walter said.

"No lies, please."

"Who's lying?" Walter said.

Beth's movements had begun to resemble those of a nervous hunter. As though aware of this, she sat down abruptly.

"Look," Beth said. "I'm set for it. Right now I can take it. Not tomorrow. Or the next day. Or next month. Not, definitely, after a lot of lies. But right now."

"Beth," Walter said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you." Beth said. "Let me put it to you in another way, " she said. "You've been ready to bed with some other woman, any other woman, for a long time. Don't think. I don't know that. Don't think I haven't seen you nurturing your excellent reasons for it. So there's motive. And you had opportunity."

"You flatter me," Walter said.

"Didn't she try to get you into bed?"

"I take the Fifth," Walter said

"If you must clown," Beth said, "this is an investigation, not a trial."

"Darcy would be proud of you," Walter said. It was time to take control of this. "Yes" he said. "She tried."

Beth smiled. "And you forewent the unique experience of possessing that queen of the screen? Darling, I could probably forgive you for the sake of having my vulgar curiosity satisfied. Tell me" Beth said, still, smiling, smiling now with an expression Walter had never before seen on Beth's face, smiling, to Walter's great shock, with the ferine expression of the Woodville when she had asked the same question. "Tell me," Beth said. "Whit's she like?"

"She's a blonde." Walter said.

"Yes, darling, I know."

"Well then," Walter said.

"But is she a real blonde?" Beth said.

Walter closed his eyes. Presently he said: "I never met her hair dresser."

"Well, " Beth said." "I can see, " she said, "that I certainly have my work cut out for me."

Walter kept his eyes shut. "Beth," he said, "I've flown umpteen thousand miles today and driven umpteen hundred and I'm beat and will you please stop working me over."

"Oh, I'm through working on you, darling," Beth said. "That's not what I meant."

Walter opened his eyes.

"After all," Beth said, "I don't need your affidavit to recognize the simple truth."

"I should hope not," Walter said.

"After all," Beth said, "I had the right to grill you a little, didn't I?" She laughed. "Any wife would have."

"Maybe I'd like another drink." Walter said.

"Poor darling," Beth said, "I expect you need it." She laughed again. "But there has to be some small price for the privilege of being seen in public with a notorious woman, don't you agree?"

Walter was indeed tired now. He wished he had a stenotype of this conversation. He wasn't quite sure where he had turned it in the right direction. But Beth clearly was convinced. And he had told no lies. "Oh," Walter said, "absolutely."

Beth poured him his drink. "What was that about having your work cut out for you?" Walter said.

"Darling, you have such a tidy mind" Beth said. "It's just that everybody's dying to know did you or didn't you. You know women. Men too, for that matter. And of course I'm damned if I'm going to have them thinking you did when you didn't."

"Maybe they'll think it any way," Walter said.

"Not a chance," Beth said. "Not by the time I've had my say, they won't."

"Don't protest too much, lady," Walter said.

"I don't intend to protest at all. " Beth said. She began to talk about taking the children to the dentist and Walter decided that the matter of the Woodville was closed.

Presently the telephone rang. "Now who in hell could that be?" Walter said.

Beth looked at her watch. "Who do you think, darling," she said. "Nancy Sloane's beagle club will be just adjourning. And Nancy isn't one to wait for morning."

Too true, Walter thought. That cynic Ted Sloane had married the right girl when he married Nancy. Beth had gone into her morning room to answer, and Walter did not have to strain much to hear.

"Yes," Beth was saying, "he's home at last and all tired out poor dear. What?" Beth said, "tired from what?" Beth began to laugh. "Why, Nancy Sloane," she said, "what ever are you suggesting!" Walter heard the distant honk of fancy's voice as Beth shifted the receiver. "Yes," Beth said, "I mean to say just that dear. I know any other man would have jumped at the chance. But not Walter. What, dear?" Beth said. "Played it safe? I suppose you could put it that way."

Walter got up and closed the door of the morning room. He didn't want to hear any more of this. What the hell was the matter with Beth, anyway, letting that bitch Nancy Sloane put words in her mouth?

Nancy Sloane! She'd be spilling it all over by morning. And Walter could see Ted Sloane's grin of malicious delight when Nancy told him. And other wives would be spilling it too, to their husbands, and unquestionably embroidering it. Walter sat down and rested his head between his hands. It would be all over The Briars like wildfire.

He could see it. He could hear the ripple of amusement running down the bar as Ted Sloane, very straight-faced, proposed a toast to Walter's impregnable virtue.

"Pick up your chits men," Bob Hasketh said. "All bets are off."

"Bets," Walter said. "What bets?"

"Why, I was taking two to one that she was a phony blonde," Bob Hasketh said. "We didn't know, you were going to play it safe, Walt."

And the conversation then turning to other things, and Walter not precisely excluded.

An young Smythe, a slow sketch to the end. "Was she angry with you, Walt? I mean to say, a woman scorned, and all that."

Walter moaned "A woman scorned, Waller," old Mr. Quayle said, "is a troublemaker. I had every confidence that you were aware of that, Walter. I had every confidence in your maturity. We'll be very fortunate indeed if Miss Woodville doesn't start picking the estate to pieces. I wish I didn't have to worry about it. It would draw the worst kind of comment on our--flexibility. And regardless, it reflects poorly Walter. It reflects poorly."

The morning-room door opened and Beth came through. "Couldn't you stand the female chatter?" she said. Then she said: "Why Walter. What in the world is the matter with you?"

"Beth," Walter said. "Beth, I've got to tell you something."