Gladys nodded.  “I suppose he decided, after Lane’s death, that he didn’t owe anybody here anything.  Too bad he didn’t wait, though.  The situation has remedied itself, and that’s something else I owe you.”

“Yes?  I noticed that there was nobody here but you,” Rand mentioned.

“Oh, Anton’s gone to New York.  The Rockefeller Foundation is financing the major part of his research work, and he’s well enough off to finance the rest himself.  Geraldine went with him.  Nelda is still recuperating from the shock of her sudden bereavement at a high-priced sanatorium—­I understand there’s a very good-looking young doctor there.  And she’s been talking about going to New York herself, in order, as she puts it, to lead her own life.  I don’t know whether she was afraid I’d be a restraining influence, or a dangerous competitor, but she feels that her own life could be best led away from here.”  She set down her glass and leaned back comfortably.  “Peace, it’s wonderful!”

Reuben, the gingerbread butler, appeared in the dining-room doorway.  “Dinner’s served now, Mrs. Fleming,” he announced.

Rand rose, and Gladys took his arm; together, they went into the dining-room.