"I'll have to
go back."
Pritchard smiled.
"When your report's in shape and the dollars are being scooped
in, they'll send you back fast enough--that is, if you still want
to go," he remarked. "I tell you, Leonard Tavernake, our city
men here are out for the dollars. Over on your side, a man makes
a million or so and he's had enough. One fortune here only seems
to whet the appetite of a New Yorker. By the way," he added,
after a moment's hesitation, "does it interest you to know that
an old friend of yours is in New York?"
Tavernake's head went round swiftly.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Mrs. Wenham Gardner."
Tavernake set his teeth.
"No," he said, slowly, "I don't know that that interests me."
"Glad of it," Pritchard went on. "I can tell you I don't think
things have been going extra well with the lady. She's spent
most of what she got from the Gardner family, and she doesn't
seem to have had the best of luck with it, either. I came across
her by accident. She is staying at a flashy hotel, but it's in
the wrong quarter--second-rate--quite second-rate."
"I wonder whether we shall see anything of her," Tavernake
remarked.
"Do you want to?" Pritchard asked. "She'll probably be at
Martin's for lunch, at the Plaza for tea, and Rector's for
supper. She's not exactly the lady to remain hidden, you know."
"We'll avoid those places, then, if you are taking me around,"
Tavernake said.
"You're cured, are you?" Pritchard inquired.
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