Winnie, resplendent as an apple
tree in early April--and murmuring with bated breath, "Oh, you
dreadful man, what have you been doing?"
"Have I been poaching on YOUR preserves?" he asked promptly.
"No, not mine," she said, "but--" and then she hesitated.
"On Mr. Duval's?" he asked.
"No," she said, "not his--but everybody else's! He was telling me
about it to-day--there's a most dreadful uproar. He wanted me to try
to find out what you were up to, and who was behind it."
Montague listened, wonderingly. Did Mrs. Winnie mean to imply that
her husband had asked her to try to worm his business secrets out of
him? That was what she seemed to imply. "I told him I never talked
business with my friends," she said. "He can ask you himself, if he
chooses. But what DOES it all mean, anyhow?"
Montague smiled at the naive inconsistency.
"It means nothing," said he, "except that I am trying to get justice
for a client."
"But can you afford to make so many powerful enemies?" she asked.
"I've taken my chances on that," he replied.
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