"Miss Deane," called Sophie Carey, "who is it?"
"Mr. Randall," Clancy called back.
"Send him into the dining-room. Tell him that there are no cocktails, but Scotch and soda are on the sideboard. Come up, won't you? And tell David to answer the door-bell."
Clancy turned to Randall. His mouth sagged open the least bit. He looked disappointed.
"Don't mind," she whispered. "We'll have it by and by."
"Have what?" he asked blankly.
"The tête-à-tête you want." She laughed. Then she wheeled and ran up the stairs, leaving him staring after her, wondering if she were the sweetly simple country maiden that she had appeared last night, or a wise coquette.
Mrs. Carey, still in the bedroom, where she was, by twisting her lithe, luscious figure, managing to hook up her dress in the back, smiled at Clancy's entrance.
"Is he overwhelmed?" she asked.