And with her black hair all tousled, her greenish eyes dancing with amusement, her large mouth wide open and the collar of her black silk pajamas gaping, she stirred her tea and waited for the fun.
And seeing that her mistress was all for laughing and that she had hit the right note, Lola kept it up. Witless and without daring, eh? Well, wait and see.
“I rather wish we’d gone on with you to the theater,” she said, lighting a cigarette and sitting on the arm of a chair in a Georgie Malwood pose. “It might have amused you to see something of Peter Chalfont, who has refused to join the gang.”
Feo was amazed at the perfection of what was, of course, an imitation of herself. Breezy’s niece was a very dark horse, it seemed.
“But where the deuce did you pick him up?” she asked, continuing the game.
“Oh, my dear, I’ve known him for years. He was an old pal of the man I married in my teens and was always hanging about the place. I call him the White Knight because he has such a charming way of rescuing women in distress. If you’re keen about getting to know him, I’ll work it for you, with all the pleasure in life.”
Back went that black head with hair like a young Hawaiian. Oh, but this was immense. A lady’s maid and a bedside jester, rolled into one. And how inimitably the girl had caught her intonation and manner of expression. A born actress, that was what she was.
“Don’t bother about me. What are you going to do with him? That’s what I want to know.”
Lola shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, I dunno,” she said, with a lifelike Feo drawl. “What can I do with him? Only trail him round.”
“Marry him, of course. That man’s a catch, you fool. Stacks of money, three show places in the country, a title as old as Rufus, and only one hand to hit you with.”