It was just before the ten o’clock show that Sally, slipping into the throne-like chair before the crystal, heard a familiar, mocking voice:
“It’s not fair! You look as fresh as a daisy! And I’ve been frantic with anxiety all day, expecting to hear that Princess Lalla had sickened with pneumonia. I’ve come to collect thanks, your highness, for saving your life!”
————
Sally’s sapphire eyes blazed at the man she knew only as “Van,” but since they were veiled with a new scrap of black lace to replace the one lost in the storm, the nonchalant New Yorker did not appear to be at all devastated by their fire.
“Thank you for saving my life,” she said stiffly, but the man’s mocking, admiring attention was fixed upon the deliciously young, sweet curves of her mouth, rather than upon the tone of her voice.
“I wonder if you know,” he began confidentially, leaning lightly upon his inevitable cane, “that you have the most adorable mouth I have ever seen? Of course there are other adorable details in the picture of complete loveliness that you present, but really, your lips, like three rose petals—”
“Oh, stop!” Sally cried with childish anger, her small, red-sandaled foot stamping the platform. “Why are you always mocking me, making fun of me? I’ve begged you to let me alone—”
“Such ingratitude!” the man sighed, but his narrowed eyes smiled at her delightedly. “If you weren’t even more delicious when you’re angry, I should not be able to forgive you. But really, Sally Ford—” his voice dropped caressingly on the name, as if to remind her that he shared her secret with her—“the way you persist in misunderstanding me is very distressing.
“I’m not mocking you, my dear child! I’m mocking myself—if anyone. It recurs to me continually that this is an amazing adventure that Arthur Van Horne, of New York, Long Island and Newport is so sedulously engaged upon! To paraphrase your own delightful defense, I’m really ‘not that kind of man.’ I assure you I’m not in the habit of making love to show girls, no matter how adorable their mouths may be!” And he smiled at her out of his narrowed eyes and with his quirked, quizzical mouth, as if he expected her to share his amusement and amazement at himself.
“Then why don’t you let me alone?” Sally cried, striking her little brown-painted hands together in futile rage.