Crowdie dived into the crowd, looking about him in every direction, and then making his way straight to Ralston, who had not left his corner.
“Miss Lauderdale wants to speak to you, Ralston,” said the painter, as he reached him. “Hallo! What’s the matter? You look ill.”
“I? Not a bit!” answered Ralston. “It’s the heat, I suppose. Where is Miss Lauderdale?” He spoke in a curiously constrained tone.
“I’ll take you to her—come along!”
The two moved away together, Ralston following Crowdie through the press. Through the open door of the boudoir Ralston saw Katharine’s eyes looking for him.
“All right,” he said to Crowdie, “I see her. Don’t bother.”
“Over there in the low chair by the plants,” answered the painter, in unnecessary explanation.
“All right,” said Ralston again, and he pushed past Crowdie, who turned away to seek amusement in another direction. Katharine looked up gravely at him as he came to her side, and then pointed to the chair Crowdie had left vacant.
“Sit down. I want to talk to you,” she said quickly, and he obeyed, drawing the chair a little nearer.
“I thought you never meant to speak to me again,” he said bitterly.