He, too, looked earnestly at the clock. A self-conscious laugh followed his words.
Belinda remarked that as her dinner was at eight she wasn't so very early. "I ought to be going now...." she concluded.
Sophy finished fastening her gloves and came forward. One of the side lights caught her full as she did so, and her white figure sprang out against the shadows of the room beyond with the glitter of snow-spray in sunlight.
She saw Loring glance at her, then look away. Belinda, her chin a little down, gazed steadily. Sophy came still nearer. She had been so pale and listless of late that the delicate, soft fire of her cheeks, and the dark, bright fire of her eyes was doubly striking. The little tongues of flame that lit her hair dazzled with iridescence. Her gown, the jewels in her hair, the light in her dark eyes—all were quivering, glinting. But she herself was very still. This intense, composed stillness of hers seemed to make the others restless. They fidgeted—Belinda with the blue flowers, Loring with another cigarette.
Suddenly Belinda said spasmodically:
"You are gorgeous to-night, ain't you?"
"You like my gown?" asked Sophy, smiling.
"Ripping," said Belinda.
"I rather like it myself," said Sophy. "I hope you like it, too, Morris?"
"Awfully smart ... you look awfully well...." he murmured.