"
"Whatever it was, Mrs. Taine, the son had nothing to do with it. Don't you
think we might let the dead man stay safely buried?" There was an ominous
glint in Conrad Lagrange's eyes.
Mrs. Taine answered hurriedly, "Indeed, yes, Mr. Lagrange. You are right.
And you shall bring Mr. King out to see me. If he is as nice as he looks,
I promise you I will be very good to him. Perhaps I may even help him a
little, through Jim, you know--bring him in touch with the right people
and that sort of thing. What does he paint?"
"Portraits." The novelist's tone was curt.
"Then I am _sure_ I could do a great deal for him."
"And I am sure you would do a great deal _to_ him," said Conrad Lagrange,
bluntly.
She laughed again. "And just what do you mean by that, Mr. Lagrange? I'm
not sure whether it is complimentary or otherwise."
"That depends upon what you consider complimentary," retorted the other.
"As I told you--Aaron King is an artist."
Again, she favored him with that look of doubtful understanding; shaking
her head with mock sadness, and making a long sigh. "Another twister"--she
said woefully--"just when we were getting along so beautifully, too.
Won't you try again?"
"In words of one syllable then--let him alone.
Pages:
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77