“Why, what in the world——” Lily began, but Ada was already out of hearing, and disappeared immediately among the homeward-bound dancers near the outer doors. Lily followed, but could catch not even a glimpse of her, though she found an opportunity to say good-night—again—to Mr. Gleason, who was departing.
“Good-night, but never good-bye, I hope,” he said, with a fervour somewhat preoccupied. “You’ve been beautiful to me. I hope you’ll always be my friend.” And with the air of a person pressed for time, he touched her hand briefly and passed on. Lily attributed his haste to the approach of her mother, who was ponderously bearing down upon them; but this interpretation may have been a mistaken one. Mr. Gleason had much on his mind at the moment, and Mrs. Dodge carefully withheld herself from joining her daughter until he had gone.
. . . Mr. Dodge had not retired to bed; he was smoking in the library when the two ladies of his household returned from their merrymaking. Lily kissed him enthusiastically, while his wife stood by, pure granite.
“You’ve had a jolly evening, Lily?”
“Beautiful!” she said. “Oh, simply magnificent!” And she ran upstairs to bed.
That is to say, she was on her way to bed, and she ran up the stairs as far as the landing; but there she paused. The acoustic properties of the house were excellent, and from the stairway landing one could hear perfectly what was said in the library when the library door was open. What stopped Lily was the bitter conviction in her mother’s voice.
“Do you see?” Mrs. Dodge demanded. “Do you see what you’re doing? It’s just as I told you it would be. Absolutely!”
“Oh, no!” he protested. “This much isn’t a fair trial. You haven’t given it a chance.”
“Haven’t I?” Mrs. Dodge laughed satirically. “It’s had chance enough to show where it’s certain to end. Don’t you see that for yourself?”
“No. What makes you think I should?”