Before very long she began to think the situation was all in her own imagination. He was so amused, so eager to talk. Silent as he was apt to be with the rest of the world, with her he sometimes showed a love of gossip that enchanted her. And now it seemed to her that he was leading her on from subject to subject through a childish dislike to going to bed. They were actually giggling over Mr. Lanley’s adventure when a motor-brake squeaked in the silence of the night, a motor-door slammed. For the first time Adelaide remembered her daughter. It was after twelve o’clock. A knock came at her door. She wrapped her swan’s-down garment about her and went to the door.
“O Mama, have you been worried?” the girl asked. She was standing in the narrow corridor, with her arms full of shining favors; there could be no question whatever that she had stayed for the dance. “Are you angry? Have I been keeping you awake?”
“I thought you would have been home an hour ago.”
“I know. I want to tell you about it. Mama, how lovely you look in that blue thing! Won’t you come up-stairs with me while I undress?”
Adelaide shook her head.
“Not to-night,” she answered.
“You are angry with me,” the girl went on. “But if you will come, I will explain. I have something to tell you, Mama.”
Mrs. Farron’s heart stood still. The phrase could mean only one thing. She went up-stairs with her daughter, sent the maid away, and herself began to undo the soft, pink silk.
“It needs an extra hook,” she murmured. “I told her it did.”
Mathilde craned her neck over her shoulder, as if she had ever been able to see the middle of her back.