“The sort of people who want divorces do,” Gus said. “I know among my family and their set it is the done thing to divorce these days. It used to be such a scandal. Now, it’s fashionable.”

“I hate divorce cases,” I said. “I find them so underhanded and unpleasant—lurking outside bedroom windows is not my cup of tea.”

“So will you give up your career when you marry?” Sid asked.

“Obviously Daniel wants me to, and I have to confess that it is sometimes a little too dangerous, but I do so enjoy being my own woman and having my own money. Let’s just say it’s a small detail we still need to work out before we marry.”

I finished my coffee and got up. “I shouldn’t detain you any longer. I’m sure you have a busy day ahead.”

“I suppose we do,” Gus said. “Sid has to plan the agenda for the next suffragist meeting that we are going to host at our house and I have promised to paint something with a Mongolian theme for our yurt.”

I chuckled as I left them. Such a delightful existence, I thought. Then I reminded myself that their lifestyle was frowned upon by most respectable households. They had essentially cut themselves off from the majority of polite society where they belonged.

Three

I walked to the post office to see if any requests had come into P. Riley and Associates, which was the name of the small detective agency I had inherited when my mentor, Paddy Riley, was murdered. There were none. And no prospects of a job on the horizon. I had never been good at soliciting business. Now I might have to swallow my pride and visit my friends like the playwright Ryan O’Hare who was up on all the theater gossip, to see who might be in need of my services—and could afford to pay me.

I returned home and immediately went through my file of people who had hired me previously. I composed a letter suggesting I’d be delighted to assist any friends they might refer to me, then I tore it up again. Somehow it sounded like groveling and I’ve never been good at that. So I got up, swept the kitchen, picked some flowers from my tiny square of back garden, then paced with annoyance. Idleness did not sit easily with me. I couldn’t picture myself as a lady of leisure. What on earth did they do all day? There was no way I’d be happy discussing my dressmaker or the best place to buy feathers.

Around lunchtime I was about to go in search of Ryan at his rooms at the Hotel Lafayette on Washington Square when there was a fierce rap on my front door and Daniel stormed in without waiting for me to answer it.

“That damned woman,” he blustered.