“I don’t believe there was a wood-nymph,” said Mrs. Pennington slowly. “Besides, Phil would hardly be in love with that sort of girl.”
“That’s just the point. What sort of a girl was she? What reason could Phil have for keeping the thing a secret? Was it an amourette? If it was, then it’s Phil Gallatin’s business and nobody else’s. But if the girl was one of Phil’s own class and station, like——”
“Miss Loring,” announced the French maid softly from the doorway.
Nina Jaffray paused and an expression of annoyance crossed her face. She straightened slowly in her chair, then rose and walked across the room. Mrs. Pennington hoped that she would go, but she only took another cigarette and lit it carefully.
“You’re too popular, Nellie,” she said, taking a chair by the fire.
Mrs. Pennington raised a protesting hand.
“Don’t say that, Nina. For years I’ve been dreading that adjective. When a woman finds herself popular with her own sex it means that she’s either too passée to be dangerous, too staid to be interesting, or too stupid to be either. Morning, Jane! So glad! Is it chilly out or are those cheeks your impersonal expression of the joy of living?”
“Both, you lazy creature! How do you do, Nina? This is my dinner call, Mrs. Pennington. I simply couldn’t wait to be formal.”
“I’m glad, dear.” And then mischievously, “Did you get home safely?”
“Oh, yes, but it was a pity to take poor Mr. Gallatin so far out of his way,” she replied carelessly.