For Anita was positively laughing at some foolishness of Pinky Payne’s. Still, Lockwood concluded, watching her narrowly, yet unobserved, she was laughing immoderately. She was laughing for some reason other than merriment. It verged on hysterical, he decided, and wondered why.
He joined the group of young people, and in his quiet but effective way, he said:
“You’ve had enough foolery for the moment, Miss Austin,—come and talk to me.”
And to the girl’s amazement, he took her hand and led her to a davenport on the other side of the room.
“There,” he said, as he arranged a pillow or two, “is that right?”
“Yes,” she said, and lapsed into silence.
She sat, looking off into vacancy, and Lockwood studied her. Then he said, softly:
“It’s too bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Anita sighed, and then suddenly; “what do you mean? What’s too bad?”
“Whatever it is that troubles you.” The deep blue eyes met her own, but there was no sign of response or acquiescence on the girl’s face.