"You mustn't let William hear that; he's far worse than I
am."
"I don't mean we can proceed from that attitude," Lee explained, "it
was a sort of digression. I want to do whatever is possible to break it
up; yes, purely for Claire."
"I hope we may succeed." Her voice showed doubt. "William isn't always
tactful, and I've told him again and again he's taking the wrong tone
with Mina. What a pity the Morrises have turned out thoroughly nice--
don't tell me your Claire didn't curse me, I know these girls--it is so
much easier to deal with vulgar people. I can see now what it was in
the young man that captured Mina, she'd like that type--the masculine
with an air of fine linen." The tea-table was rolled up to them. "If
you would rather have Scotch or rye it's here," she informed him. "But
even the tea, you'll notice, is in a glass with rum; positively, soon
no one will look at soup unless it's served as a highball."
Lee Randon did prefer Scotch: none better, he discovered, was to be
imagined; the ice was frozen into precisely the right size; and the
cigars before him, a special Corona, the Shepheard's Hotel cigarettes,
carried the luxury of comfort to its last perfection. Mrs. Grove smoked
in an abstracted long-accustomed manner. "Well," she demanded, "what is
there we can do?"
"I rather trusted you to find that."
"How can I? What hold have we on her? Mina is getting this nonsensical
weekly sum; her contract runs for two years yet; and then it will be
worse.
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