“Good God!” Ravenal had exclaimed; and had frowned portentously.
“Do you know them, Gay?”
“It’s Bliss Chapin’s gang. He’s giving a party. He’s going to be married day after to-morrow. They’re making a night of it.”
“Really! How lovely! Which one’s the girl he’s to marry? Point her out.”
And for the second time Ravenal said, “Don’t be silly, darling.”
They entered the big dining room on a wave of sound and colour. They swarmed the table. They snatched up bits of bread and pickles and celery, and munched them before they were seated. They caught sight of Ravenal.
“Gay! Well, I’m damned! Gay, you old Foxey Quiller, so that’s why you wouldn’t come out! Heh, Blanche, look! Here’s Gay, the bad boy. Look who’s here!”
“I thought you were going out to Cramp’s place,” Gay said, sullenly, in a low voice, to one of the men.
He chose the wrong confidant, the gentleman being neither reticent nor ebriate. He raised his voice to a shout. “That’s a good ’un! Listen! Foxey Gay thought we were going out to Cramp’s place, so what does he do? He brings his lady here. Heh, Blanche, d’you hear that? Now you know why he couldn’t come.” He bent upon Magnolia a look of melting admiration. “And can you blame him? All together! NO!”
“You go to hell,” said the lady named Blanche from the far end of the table, though without anger; rather in the manner of one who is ready with a choice bit of repartee. Indeed it must have been so considered, for at its utterance Mr. Bliss Chapin’s pre-nuptial group uttered shouts of approbation.