The implication was: "If you want to find out, go to him!"--when of course Fanny knew well enough that lawyers' and doctors' wives are the last people to get at their clients' secrets. Pauline rose to her feet, offended, and not averse from showing it. "Well, my dear, I can only say that if it's so awful that you can't tell _me_, I rather wonder at your wanting to tell Tom, Dick and Harry. Have you thought of that?" Oh, yes, she had, Mrs. Lindon wailed. "But Grant says it's a duty ... and so does Dexter..." Pauline permitted herself a faint smile. "Dexter naturally takes the lawyer's view: that's _his_ duty." Mrs. Lindon's mind was not alert for innuendos. "Yes; he says we _ought_ to," she merely repeated. A sudden lassitude overcame Pauline. "At least send Grant to me first--let me talk to him." But to herself she said: "My only hope now is to get at them through Arthur." And she looked anxiously out of the motor, watching for the signal to shift. Everything at Arthur Wyant's was swept and garnished for her approach. One felt that cousin Eleanor, whisking the stray cigarette-ends into the fire, and giving the sofa cushions a last shake, had slipped out of the back door as Mrs. Manford entered by the front. Wyant greeted her with his usual rather overdone cordiality. He had never quite acquired the note on which discarded husbands should welcome condescending wives. In this respect Pauline was his superior. She had found the exact blend of gravity with sisterly friendliness; and the need of having to ask about his health always helped her over the first moments. "Oh, you see--still mummified." He pointed to the leg stretched out in front of him. "Couldn't even see Amalasuntha to the door--" "Amalasuntha? Has she been here?" "Yes. Asked herself to lunch. Rather a to-do for me; I'm not used to entertaining distinguished foreigners, especially when they have to picnic on a tray at my elbow. But she took it all very good-naturedly." "I should think so," Pauline murmured; adding inwardly: "Trust Amalasuntha not to pay for her own lunch." "Yes; she's in great feather. Said you'd been so kind to her--as usual." Pauline sounded the proper deprecation. "She's awfully pleased at your having promised that Manford would give Michelangelo a leg up if he comes out to try his luck in New York." "Promised? Well--not quite. But I did say Dexter would do what he could. It seems the only way left of disposing of Michelangelo." Wyant leaned back, a smile twitching under his moustache. "Yes--that young man's a scourge. And I begin to see why. Did you see his picture in bathing tights with the latest lady?" Pauline waved away the suggestion. How like Arthur not to realize, even yet, that such things disgusted her!