“There’s nothing to tell. If an enchantingly sinful man met an enchantingly helpless Dryad—what would be likely to happen? Can you tell us, Miss Loring?”
Jane’s weapons went flying for a moment, but she recovered them adroitly.
“The situation has possibilities of which you are in every way worthy, I don’t doubt, Mr. Gallatin. The name of your Dryad will, of course, be revealed in time. I’m sure if Miss Jaffray pleads with you long enough you’ll gladly tell her.”
Nina Jaffray laughed.
“Come, Phil, there’s a dear. Do tell a fellow. I’ve really got to know, if only for the fun of scratching her eyes out. I’m sure I ought to—oughtn’t I, Jane?”
But Miss Loring had already turned and was deep in conversation with Mr. Worthington, who for twenty minutes at least, had been trying to attract her attention.
[XII]
NELLIE PENNINGTON CUTS IN
It was the custom at Richard Pennington’s dinners for the men to follow the ladies at once to the library or drawing-room if they cared to, for Nellie Pennington liked smoking and made no bones about it. People who dined with her were expected to do exactly as they pleased, and this included the use of tobacco in all parts of the house. She was not running a kindergarten, she insisted, and the mothers of timorous buds were amply warned that they must look to the habits of their tender offspring. And so after the ices were served, when the women departed, some of their dinner partners followed them into the other rooms, finding more pleasure in the cigarette à deux than in the stable talk at the dismantled dining-table.