It was apparent that Fitzalan was
excited about something; his lips, his arms, his head were in
incessant motion. Susan noted that he had picked up many of
Brent's mannerisms; she had got the habit of noting this
imitativeness in men--and in women, too--from having seen in
the old days how Rod took on the tricks of speech, manner,
expression, thought even, of whatever man he happened at the
time to be admiring. May it not have been this trait of Rod's
that gave her the clue to his character, when she was thinking
him over, after the separation?
Sperry was gone nearly ten minutes. He came, full of
apologies. "Fitz held on to me while he roasted Brent.
You've heard of Brent, of course?"
"Yes," said Susan.
"Fitz has been seeing him off. And he says it's----"
Susan glanced quickly at him. "Off?" she said.
"To Europe."
Susan had paused in removing her left glove. Rod's description
of Brent's way of sidestepping--Rod's description to the last
detail. Her hands fluttered uncertainly--fluttering fingers
like a flock of birds flushed and confused by the bang of the gun.
"And Fitz says----"
"For Europe," said Susan. She was drawing her fingers slowly
one by one from the fingers of her glove.
"Yes. He sailed, it seems, on impulse barely time to climb
aboard. Fitz always lays everything to a woman. He says
Brent has been mixed up for a year or so with---- Oh, it
doesn't matter.
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