Mrs. Vander Laan had stopped to look up again. Sue was close by, suddenly pink with embarrassment for Genevieve, who was rattling the cups and saucers at the tea-table.
“All around New York?” repeated Mrs. Vander Laan. “Why do you say that, Mr. Rawson? Genevieve hasn’t been to New York.”
Genevieve whirled toward them now, anger flaming in her cheeks. “Oh, please, please let the matter of the money drop!” she exclaimed. “If I’d staked it at bridge and lost it you’d have all thought it a good joke.”
“Indeed not,” replied the little old lady, suddenly sitting up. “I think gambling——”
But what she thought was left unsaid. For at that moment the drawing-room door was opened by a maid and Mr. Aubrey Valentine was announced.
Phil went home in the wake of Sue’s pony. Once she glanced round at him as she galloped. His lips were set, his feet were braced, his cap was pulled far down. He circled his machine into the driveway leading up to Arbor Lodge with preciseness.
They were out in the wicker chairs at the tennis-court before he spoke. Then he faced her squarely and blurted out one sentence: “Sue, she lied to me.”
“Now, Phil,” began Sue, “didn’t you ask her something you had no right to ask? You met her two weeks ago—just two weeks. Since then you’ve claimed her time pretty steadily, haven’t you? She didn’t want to go out with you that day; she wanted to do something else.”
“She lied to me,” repeated Phil.
“She may have fibbed. Most women do that. You cornered her, probably.”