This was the first sign Marie had
shown of wishing to assert independence.
"Are you sure you're not saying this for my sake?" Angelo inquired
anxiously. "I don't want to hang about Monte Carlo. I----"
"It will do you good to have a little change," she said. Then she
flashed him a meaning, intimate glance which he thought that he
interpreted, and therefore raised no more objections. Her eyes seemed to
say: "I have a reason. I'll explain to you when we're alone. It has
something to do with your brother."
"Come and dine with us if you care to, Vanno," she went on. "Or if you
have an engagement with Miss Grant, spin over in a taxi for coffee and a
few minutes' chat afterward. That is, if you'd like to hear how
beautiful and altogether perfect I think she is--and make some plan
about bringing her to Cap Martin--sooner or later."
Vanno explained that he was to dine at the Winters, but would accept for
the "chat," with great pleasure. Dinner was early at the chaplain's. He
would leave at eight-thirty, and then go back again for a quarter of an
hour, to bid Miss Grant farewell.
He leaned suddenly from the window just in time to direct his brother's
chauffeur, and the car pulled up before the ugly square building which
Rose Winter called a "quadrupedifice." Angelo sprang out, helping Marie
to alight with as much care and tenderness as if she might break with a
rough touch. Next came the parting at the door; and Vanno smiled to see
how Marie lingered with her hand in her husband's.
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