Gita, who had looked like a boy once more in her silk union suit, slipped a negligée of ivory-white silk and lace over her head and shook it down. “You made me get these things,” she grumbled. “I always feel rather a fool in them. What on earth are you staying in town all summer for? You’ll pass out with the heat.”
“You can always be comfortable in New York in summer if you stay in the house all day and live in north rooms. It just occurred to me I’d like a change.”
“It will be a change, all right.” Gita stretched herself on the despised day-bed and stuffed a cushion under her head. “Won’t you be bored to death?”
“Not while there’s a man in the offing.”
“Park Leonard?”
“No. Geoffrey Pelham.”
Gita, prepared, did not change countenance. “Interesting man, rather, but it seemed to me last night that Mr. Leonard exactly fitted into that old program of yours.”
“Forget what it was. Might have filled the bill once but Geoffrey Pelham is unique in my experience, and that suits me better.”
The girls’ eyes did not clash but met calmly.
“Well, you always get what you want, Polly dear,” said Gita, and felt an inclination to strangle her.