"Who is Miss Downing? Where have I seen her before?"
"How should I know?" said Mrs. Runway, stiffly.
"Oh," he said, turning again. A strange young man, very much the worse for champagne, had now approached the girl, his hands in his pockets, a vacuous smile on his flushed face. Bosworth changed his course and engaged young Mrs. Chanier in conversation, all the while keeping his eye on the girl down the room.
"Terrible night, isn't it, Blanche?" he observed by way of reserving her attention, which seemed inclined to wander.
"Ripping," she said. "Everything went off beautifully. Only one hitch, my dear. I say, who's the girl talking to Tommy Rexford?" She used her lorgnette.
"I was just about to ask who the chap is talking to her. She's a Miss Downing."
"Know her?"
"Oh, yes," he prevaricated nobly, catching an ugly gleam in the young matron's eye. "She's a terribly nice girl."
"I thought as much. Isn't she too nice?"
"Who's this Rexford chap?"