Just then I heard the raucous laugh of Channing Lloyd from the distant lawn, which reminded me with a startling suddenness that this slender creature who spoke softly of ideals and purity could choose a man like this fellow for an intimate. I noticed, too, the delicate odor which rose from her corsage of which Jack Ballard had spoken, something subtle and unfamiliar.
I straightened and looked out through the open window, steeling myself against her.
"I am glad you think him fine," I said dryly. "No doubt he compares very favorably with other young men of your acquaintance."
"You mean Mr. Lloyd, of course," she said quickly.
I was silent, avoiding her gaze and her perfume.
"I'm afraid you don't understand me, Mr. Canby," she said softly. "I'm sorry. Any friend of Jerry's ought to be a friend of mine."
"I should like to be, of course, but—"
I paused. This woman, against my will, was making me lie to her.
"But what—? Am I so—so unpleasant to you? What have I done to earn your displeasure?"
"Nothing," I stammered. "Nothing."