"You're simply great.
You know everything; you--"
Ferriday touched him on the arm. "We mustn't spoil her. There is
a charm and meekness about her that we must not lose."
Dyckman swallowed his other great's and after profound thought said,
"Let's lunch somewhere."
Ferriday excused himself, but said that the air would be good for
Miss Adair. She was working too hard.
So she took the air.
Dyckman had come to the studio with Charity's business as an excuse.
He had forgotten to give the excuse, and now he had forgotten the
business. He did not know that he was now Kedzie Thropp's business.
And she was minding her own business.
CHAPTER XIX
Peter Cheever was going to dictagraph to his wife. The quaint charm
of the dictagram is that the sender does not know he is sending it.
It is a good deal like an astral something or other.
Peter had often telegraphed his wife, telephoned her, and wirelessed
her. Sometimes what he had sent her was not the truth. But now
she was going to hear from him straight. She would have all the
advantages of the invisible cloak and the ring of Gyges--eavesdropping
made easy and brought to a science, a combination of perfect alibi
with intimate propinquity.
Small wonder that the device which justice has made such use of
should be speedily seized upon by other interests. Everything,
indeed, that helps virtue helps evil, too. And love and hate find
speedy employment for all the conquests that science can make upon
the physical forces of the universe.
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