“But how horrible!” said Miss Dolly.
“Yes…” said Gabrielle.
She was a blonde girl, very thin, with hollows under her cheekbones, and no figure. But she made an asset of her gauntness; she had style, distinction, the fluid grace of a cat, in her plain dark-blue linen dress.
“This is my secretary, Maggie MacGowan, Gabrielle. Maggie—Mrs. Getty. And Mr. Getty.”
Maggie did not like the looks of Mr. Getty. He was handsome, in a way, but it was a way too male for her taste, too unromantic. He was dark, stalwart, heavy-shouldered, with a bluish jaw and a quick uncheerful smile.
“How do you do?” he said, appraising Maggie with a quick glance.
“Was it suicide, do you think?” said Miss Plummer.
“Could be, I suppose,” said Getty. “But I didn’t think of that. Well-dressed fellow, prosperous look
