The door opened and a maid put her head in the door.
"Excuse me, Patron," she said. "But the Se¤ora insists on seeing you this very moment."
"Jumping the gun a little, isn't she?" Graham said.
"What's the word for that?" Leibermann chuckled. "Hen-pecked?"
"Tell Se¤orita Mallin I am occupied and will be with her directly," Clete said.
"Patron, the lady says her name is Se¤ora Howell."
"And that's what it is," Martha Williamson Howell said, pushing into the room, "Nice spread you have here, Clete. How are you, honey?"
"I'll be goddamned!"
"Watch your mouth!"
He ran to her and put his arms around her.
"God, I'm glad to see you!" Clete said.
"Where is she?" Martha asked.
"Where's who?"
"Who do you think?"
"Would you ask Se¤orita Mallin to come in here, please?" Clete said to the maid.
"Well, look who's here," Martha said, spotting Graham. "What brings you down here?"
"Clete's wedding, what else? How nice to see you, Mrs. Howell."
The door opened again and the Misses Howell passed through it, followed by Cletus Marcus Howell.
He spotted Graham.
"God, what are you doing here? What the hell's going on around here?"
"Not much," Graham said. "How are you, Mr. Howell?"
"I've spent thirty-six hours on an airplane without sleep and four hours in a twenty-year-old Ford taxi driving here. How do you think I am?"
He looked at Cletus.
"Have you nothing to say to your grandfather, Cletus?"
"That depends on what you're doing down here."
Dorotea Mallin entered the room.
"This must be her," the Old Man said.
"That's her."
The Old Man fished in his pocket.
"This is what I'm doing here," he said to Clete, and then turned to Dorotea. "Miss Mallin, I am Cletus Marcus Howell."