"So we're friends," she announced. "You've got a swell wife waiting for you. If you ever need me, I'll be around. If you don't, that's okay too. But Gawd, honeychile, we did have us some fun--Winnie and I. He had a theory that monogamy was a kind of hardwood that grows in the tropics, and that made him kind of nice to play with. What gives with you?" I gave her a fill-in on the Washington trip and the events that had brought me to The Sanctuary, and she listened with a growing smile. "Why--" she began, but the music stopped, and Vail and Miss Post returned to the table. "Winnie," Vail announced, "spring hath come to Hartford, Conn., and I've decided to take a room at this hotel. This is a mighty fine little city, isn't it? Clean, vital, New England honesty and all that, not to mention insurance. And--" His eyes strayed fondly in the direction of the nurse who sat with eyes demurely downcast. "Okay," I told him. "This is the official opening of spring. Just give me those papers I wanted to sign. The money for Dr. Rutherford, I mean." He stared at me. "You don't mean to say you were serious about that!" he exclaimed. "I thought it was a gag to tip me off that you were being railroaded to the asylum. Hell, I'll have the stuff drawn up and you can sign it on Monday. There's nothing doing in town over the week-end and Rutherford can wait. If you like, I'll try to beat him down. For my money, he'll settle for five thousand and to hell with his family honor." I shook my head. "No dice, Merry. It's fifteen thousand--a gentleman's agreement." "Hell! no gentleman has any business making agreements. That's what lawyers are for." The music started up with a rather miscegenated attempt to marry Mendelssohn's Spring Song to "Pistol-Packing Momma." He grabbed Emily Post by the arm. "Come on," he urged. "Got to dance. I'll show you some steps that aren't in the book of etiquette." "Why, Mr. Vail!" she agreed, and they were off again. I resumed my talk with Arthurjean. "You'd better stay here, too," I told her. "It's getting late and they lock up the trains on the New Haven road along with the cows." She looked the question at me. "Nope!" I replied sturdily. "I'm going to drive back and see whether spring has come to Bedford Hills. Even commuters have children now and then," I added. "They used to blame it on sunspots or Roosevelt but now I guess they'll have nobody to blame but themselves." In return for a five-spot the hotel door-man told me how to find the nearest Black Market gas-station, so I tanked up the Packard and worked myself across country until I hit the Parkway. The night was clear and cool but there was a hint of blossoms in the air.