"Any results?" she asked.
"Some."
She waited, knowing that the story would come at length.
He added after a moment: "Strange how careless some people get to be."
"Yes?" she queried.
"Yes."
Another pause, during which he casually drummed his fingers on his
knee. She saw that he must receive more encouragement before he would
tell, and she gave it, smiling to herself. Women are old in certain
ways of understanding in which men remain children forever.
"I suppose we're still broke, Pierre?"
"Broke? Well, not entirely. I got some results."
"Good."
"As a matter of fact, it was a pretty fair haul. Watch that meat,
Jack; I think it's burning."
It was hardly beginning to cook, but she turned it obediently and hid
another slow smile. Rising, she passed behind his chair, and pretended
to busy herself with something near the wall. This was the environment
and attitude which would make him talk most freely, she knew.
"Speaking of careless men," said Pierre, "I could tell you a yarn,
Jack."
She stood close behind him and made about his unconscious head a
gesture of caress, the overflow of an infinite tenderness.
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