Marjorie indicated a tall, florid gentleman with a shock of silver hair, who loitered at the doorway in a manner that suggested he was waiting for someone to go home.
“Who is that?” she whispered to Azalea.
“Where? Oh, that’s Rufus Sullivan, the Member for Morroway,” answered the girl. “I meant to have pointed him out to you earlier in the afternoon, only I had no chance. He’s Lady Denby’s pet aversion. One dares not mention his name in her presence.”
“But why?”
“Lots of reasons. He’s quite a character, you know. Heavens, how he stares!”
Marjorie turned away with flaming cheeks. She was loath to admit that he had not only been staring, but that he had been at her elbow during the entire afternoon. This distressed her, for, according to the ethics of Pinto Plains, a man impressed his attentions only upon the woman who encouraged him, and Marjorie felt that something in her manner must have been very misleading. She resented his pursuit less than she felt ashamed of herself for inspiring it, and was inexpressibly relieved when he finally left the room.
The terrible disorder of the pavilion sickened her housekeeper’s soul, and she turned to Azalea, impetuously.
“Just look at this place! Isn’t it disgusting to expect any human being to clean it up?” Then, a little afraid of her own daring, “Wouldn’t you just love to open the back door and let a drove of pigs come in?”
“Yes,” answered Azalea, shortly, “after you’d opened the front door and let them out!”