"Yes, I heard everything, but, dammit all, I couldn't believe my own ears. You're like every woman I ever knew ... you don't play fair. You appeal to my instinct as host and then you go and outrage every privilege you've got me to concede. You're a pretty guest, you are! And I sit here and let you 'play me for a fool.' Let you ring up Ned Stillman and ask him to fetch you away from _my_ house in _his_ car!" He stopped and took a deep breath; his words were no longer passionate; instead, they were precise and cool and venomous. "Understand me, young lady, I'm through with you. I wouldn't care, if I thought you were really virtuous. But you're too clever for a virtuous woman.... Oh, I dare say you subscribe to the letter of the law, all right. For instance, you take care not to run around with married men whose incumbrances are in plain view of the audience.... Oh, I've seen lots of clever women in my time, but in the end they always took too much rope. Remember, you'll have your bluff called some day." He pushed back his chair noisily and rose. The Japanese servant came bobbing along. "Clear away the things!" Flint bellowed. "We're through!... Good night, Miss Robson, and a pleasant journey to you--you and your _immaculate_ friend Stillman." He left the room with a melodramatic flourish.... Presently Claire heard him mounting the stairs. "He's drunk!" flashed through her mind, as if the idea had just struck her. "Of course, he must be drunk, otherwise he wouldn't have dared to...." She went out into the entrance hall and put on her hat. CHAPTER VII Midway between Yolanda and Sausalito Stillman's machine died with disconcerting suddenness The rain was coming down in sheets. Stillman got out. "It's no use," he announced, lifting himself back into his seat. "I can't do anything in this deluge." This was the first word that had been said since he and Claire had left Flint's. "The worst will be over in a few moments," replied Claire, easily. But she was far from reassured. The deluge was _not_ over in a few moments. It kept up with an ever-increasing violence, until it seemed that even the stalled car would be compelled to yield to its force. Claire had never seen it rain harder; the storm had a vindictive fury that reminded her of the dreadful tempest in "King Lear."