Flanders, a broker, compact, nervously alive, well groomed,
entered with the informality of assured acquaintance.
"You are early," said Mrs. Kildair, in surprise.
"On the contrary, you are late," said the broker, glancing at his watch.
"Then be a good boy and help me with the candles," she said, giving him
a smile and a quick pressure of her fingers.
He obeyed, asking nonchalantly:
"I say, dear lady, who's to be here to-night?"
"The Enos Jacksons."
"I thought they were separated."
"Not yet."
"Very interesting! Only you, dear lady, would have thought of serving us
a couple on the verge."
"It's interesting, isn't it?"
"Assuredly. Where did you know Jackson?"
"Through the Warings. Jackson's a rather doubtful person, isn't he?"
"Let's call him a very sharp lawyer," said Flanders defensively. "They
tell me, though, he is on the wrong side of the market--in deep."
"And you?"
"Oh, I? I'm a bachelor," he said with a shrug of his shoulders, "and if
I come a cropper it makes no difference."
"Is that possible?" she said, looking at him quickly.
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