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"
"Oh, nonsense, Clay. A man - especially a boy - can love a
half-dozen girls. He can be crazy about any girl he is with. It
may not be love, but it plays the same tricks with him that the
real thing does."
"I can't believe that."
"No. You wouldn't."
She leaned back and watched him. How much of a boy he was himself,
anyhow! And yet how little he understood the complicated problems
of a boy like Graham, irresponsible but responsive, rich without
labor, with time for the sort of dalliance Clay himself at the same
age had had neither leisure nor inclination to indulge.
He was wandering about the room, his hands in his pockets, his head
bent. When he stopped:
"What am I to do with the girl, Audrey?"
"Get rid of her. That's easy."
"Not so easy as it sounds."
He told her of Dunbar and the photographs, of Rudolph Klein, and
the problem as he saw it.
"So there I am," he finished. "If I let her go, I lose one of the
links in Dunbar's chain. If I keep her?"
"Can't Natalie talk to him? Sometimes a woman can get to the bottom
of these things when a man can't.


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