He rose, but I caught his arm and gasped out something that stopped him. I don't remember what I said, but I succeeded in making him understand that I did not want that particular man to meet my friends. Mr. Morris stared at me hard for a moment. Then he sat down again and looked me straight in the eyes.
"Miss Iverson," he said, quietly, "what have you against Brook? He's the foreign editor of the Searchlight, and one of the best fellows alive."
I could not speak. I was too much surprised.
"The girl he's with," Morris went on, "is Marion Hastings—Mrs. Cartwell's social secretary. She and Brook are going to be married next week."
He waited for me to reply. I muttered something about not wanting my friends to meet any one in this place. That was all I said. My self-control, my poise, had deserted me, but perhaps my burning face was more eloquent than my tongue. Mr. Morris looked from me to Maudie, and then at Kittie, and finally back at me.
"I see," he said at last, very slowly. "You three actually think you are in a den of iniquity!"
He turned to Mollie Merk and addressed her as crisply and with as much authority as if they were in the Searchlight office.
"How did you come to give Miss Iverson that impression?" he demanded.
Mollie Merk looked guilty. "Didn't realize she had it till within the last half-hour," she muttered.
"I see," said Morris again, in the same tone. "And then it was such fun for you that you let it go on!"