“You’ve heard me speak of my sister, Oliver,” said Lansing, resting his elbows on the wheel. “Well, here she is. Meet Mr. Baxter, Sylvia, as we say out here. Mrs. Flame, Oliver. You needn’t be afraid of her, old man. She’s quite flameless. Got rid of him last month in Paris. Come a little closer.” “Don’t be silly, Paul,” scolded Mrs. Flame. “Mr. Baxter may have a perfect horror of divorced women.” “I have,” said Oliver gallantly. “I shudder every time I see one. If I hear about ’em in time, I shut my eyes so that I can’t see them. But when I’m taken by surprise like this, I stare rudely, my knees quake and I begin to pray for help. It’s queer I never feel that way about divorced men. I don’t have the slightest fear of them, no matter how big and strong and ferocious they may be. Strange, isn’t it?” “Very,” said she, still smiling down into his eyes. “I must say, however, I don’t think you are staring rudely.” “It’s generally conceded that he stares very handsomely,” said Lansing. “But, hop in, Oliver. I’ve been sent to fetch you over to Mr. Sage’s. He had a cablegram early this morning and sort of went to pieces. Jane sent for me. He’s all right now, but Jane says he wants to see you. She telephoned while I was there, but you were not at home.” “A cablegram? His wife—is she dead?” “I should say not. She’s sailing for the United States to-morrow and is coming here to live!” “Good God!” burst involuntarily from Oliver’s lips. “It’s knocked the old boy silly,” was Lansing’s brief and professional explanation. “Climb in here beside Sylvia—plenty of room if we squeeze. Get your leg over a little, Sylvia. That’s all right. Shall we stick to this road, Oliver, or go back to the—” “It gets better a little farther on,” said Oliver, dazed. “All the hauling has been at this end. My Lord! No wonder he’s knocked out. Coming here to live? Why—why, he hasn’t seen her since Jane was a baby. What’s the matter with her? Sick?” “I don’t think so. Unless you can see something ominous in the last line of her cablegram. She winds it up with ‘dying to see you.’ Strikes me she’s been a long time dying. They say she turned this burg upside down when she first came here. Do you remember her, Oliver?” “I should say I do,” cried Oliver. “I adored her. I say, this must mean that she’s going to leave the stage, give up acting. She was famous over there. Why, only a couple of years ago, she made a great hit in a new play over in London. I tried to get across from France to see her in it, but it couldn’t be managed. Just after the Armistice, you see. I asked a good many British officers about her. They said she was tophole, all of ’em crazy about her. I can’t understand it, Doc. Coming here to Rumley to live? Gee whiz!” “I saw her in a play called ‘Rosalind,’” said Mrs. Flame. “Several years ago. It’s by Shakespeare. My husband said she certainly was worth seeing. Heavens, Paul, take these ruts slowly. You’re jolting my head off.”