Rhoda drew up a chair to Patricia's side, and began vivaciously to talk. Patricia had a glimpse of the dead white cheeks and red lips and full dark eyes, and struggled to carry on a conversation with Rhoda while she was giving all her attention to what was passing behind her, between the two men.
"Saw you when you first came in!" said Rhoda. "What a pretty dress that is. This blue ... there aren't many complexions that would stand it. Yours does, though. I'm sticking to black just now. Makes me look svelte. I'm getting fat. You've been dining with Monty, I suppose. Lucky girl. I had to dig Harry out. He's working like a nigger. Going abroad...."
"I ... had ... to ... dig ... Harry ... out!... He's ... going ... abroad!" That was all Patricia heard. "He's going abroad ... going to the East, and the sun, perhaps ... tramping in the sun, making everything ... easy."
"I wish ... I were going ... abroad," stammered Patricia.
"Wouldn't it be jolly. I say, let's all go! If you could get somebody.... You could join us somewhere.... I mean...." Rhoda checked herself. Patricia shrank back.
"No, no!" she whispered. But she had heard the words which Rhoda had spoken so thoughtlessly. And behind her was Harry's voice, quite quietly saying:
"Let's change partners for a dance, Monty. I...."
Her hand shot out uncontrollably. A "no" started to her lips. She heard Monty say with equal quietness, in his thick sweet voice:
"By no means, Harry. I wouldn't deprive you of your partner for the world. How entirely charming she looks, with that ivory skin...."