“Do the women vote there?”
“Long way from Paris, judging by the fashions.”
“Where is Simití, kidlet?”
Carmen answered in a scarcely audible voice, “South America.”
Low exclamations of astonishment encircled the table, while the women sat regarding the girl curiously.
“But,” continued Carmen in a trembling voice, “where is 12 Mrs. Reed? And isn’t Mr. Harris here? Why don’t they come? Don’t they know I am here?”
She looked appealingly from one to another. Her beautiful face wore such an expression of mingled fear, uncertainty, and helplessness as to throw a hush upon the room. One of the women rose. “God!” she muttered, “it’s a shame!” She looked for a moment uncertainly into the big, deep eyes of the girl, and then turned and hastily left the room.
The silence which followed was broken by a pallid, painted creature at the end of the table.
“What an old devil the Madam is! My God! One look into those eyes would have been enough for me!”
“What’s the idea, Jude?” asked another, nodding toward the girl. “Does she stay here?”