She settled back again. She was sorry for Serena, but it would never do to offend Jesse.
“If there’s any serious trouble,” she thought, “poor Serena ’ll be done for!”
The ambitious Mrs. Anson couldn’t afford to take up the cause of people who were done for. She glanced covertly across the table. Her husband sat with his eyes fixed on the cloth, his distinguished gray head bent. Levering was grave, but the shadow of a smile hovered about his lips. Jinky, sitting next him—what was the matter with Jinky?
“How queer she looks!” thought Mrs. Anson.
She was really distressed by the look on Jinky’s wasted young face; for of all the people there, Jinky could least afford any indiscreet pity. Jesse Page was a distant cousin of hers; he had been generous to her, and she needed it. No—she really shouldn’t look at Serena like that!
Suddenly Jinky jumped up, and, without a word, walked across the room to the window, and out on the terrace.
“Jinky!” Page called sharply. “Where are you going?”
She turned her head and glanced at him, but she did not answer. For a moment she stood there in the bright light, a curiously dramatic figure in her emerald green dress, with her gleaming black hair and her white, thin face. Then she put her jade cigarette holder between her teeth, and went off over the lawn.
Page jumped up and followed her.
“See here, Jinky!” he said furiously. “You’d better—”