"How so?"
"I like the ocean immensely, but I don't know how good a sailor I should be on a yacht."
Imogene was ready to go home. Kimberly rose. "I understand," he said, in the frank and reassuring manner that was convincing because quite natural. "We will try you some time, up the coast," he suggested, extending his hand. "Good-night, Mrs. MacBirney."
"I believe Kimberly is coming to our side," declared MacBirney after he had gone upstairs with Alice.
Annie had been dismissed and Alice was braiding her hair. "I hope so; I begin to feel like a conspirator."
MacBirney was in high spirits. "You don't look like one. You look just now like Marguerite." He put his hands around her shoulders, and bending over her chair, kissed her. The caress left her cold.
"Poor Marguerite," she said softly.
"When is the dinner to be?"
"A week from Thursday. Mr. Kimberly says the yacht is for you, but the dinner is for me," continued Alice as she lifted her eyes toward her husband.
"Good for you."