Gail was sparkling all the time. There was a constant flash of wit, not of a very high order, to be sure, nor exceptionally brilliant, which latter was its chief charm. Some wit has to be taken so very seriously. There were dashes into the brisk, exhilarating winter air, there were lazy breakfasts, where three or four of the girls grouped in one room, there was endless gaiety and laughter, and, above all, oceans and oceans of flirtation. The men whom Lucile and Arly had collected were an especial joy. They had all the accomplished outward symbols of fervour without any of its oppressive insistence. Gail, as an agreeable duty to her new found self, experimented with several of them, and found them most amusing and pleasant, but nothing more disturbing.
Dick Rodley was the most persistent, and, in spite of the fact that he was so flawlessly handsome as to excite ridicule, Gail found herself, by and by, defending him against her own iconoclastic sense of humour. He reached her after the minstrel show, while Houston Van Ploon and Willis Cunningham were still struggling profanely with their burnt cork, and he stole her from under the very eyes of Jack Lariby, while that smitten youth was exchanging wit, at a tremendous loss, with caustic Arly Fosland.
“Have you seen the new century plant in the conservatory?” Dick asked, beaming down at her, his black eyes glowing like coals.
Gail’s eyelids flashed down for an instant, and the corners of her lips twitched. Young Lariby had only been with her five minutes, but she had felt herself ageing in that time.
“I love them,” she avowed, and glancing backward just once, she tiptoed hastily away with the delighted Dick. That young man had looked deep into the eyes of many women, and at last he was weary of being adored. He led Gail straight to the sequestered corner behind the date palms, but it was occupied by Bobby Chalmers and Flo Reynolds. He strolled with Gail to the seat behind the rose screen, but it was fully engaged, and he led the way out toward the geranium alcove.
“I’ve missed you so this evening,” he earnestly confided to her. “I was two hours in the minstrel show. It was forever, Gail!” and he bent his glowing eyes upon her. That was it! His wonderful eyes! They were magnetic, compelling, and one would be dull who could not find a response to the thrill of them.
“Where is the century plant?” He was a tremendously pleasant fellow. When she walked through a crowded room with Dick, she knew, from the looks of admiration, just what people were saying; that they were an extraordinarily handsome couple.
“There is no century plant,” he shamelessly confessed.
“I knew it,” and she laughed.
“I don’t mind admitting that it was a point-blank lie,” he cheerfully told her. “I wanted to get you out here alone, all to myself,” and his voice went down two tones. He did do it so prettily!