Three big Chinese lanterns shed a softly pleasant light upon the porch and the lawn at its foot. Suzanne Gerard and Marie Dresser made a most attractive picture, one in a low chair, the other upon a pile of cushions on the step. Suzanne lightly picked a mandolin. Marie was singing softly:
| “Down through the lane Come I again Seeking, my love, for you; Run to me, dear, Losing all fear, Love and my life will be true.” |
It was one of the songs of the summer—foolish words, seductive music—everybody hummed it half the time. Roger Barnes smiled to himself, remembering where he had heard it last.
“Come here and give account,” commanded Suzanne the instant he appeared. “Every unmarried man vanished the moment twilight fell. You are the last to show your face. I challenge you, one and all, to swear that you have not been within sight of a certain small brown house at the foot of the hill since supper.”
Her voice was music; in her eyes was laughter. Marie sang on, pointing her words with smiles at one and another of the culprits.
From his seat on the threshold of the door, where his head rested against Juliet’s knee as she sat behind him, Anthony laughed to himself. Then he turned his head and whispered to his wife: “Feel the claws through the velvet? Poor boys, they have my sympathy.”
XVIII.—An Unknown Quantity
“Rachel,” said Juliet decisively, next morning, “to-night is the last of my house party, and I refuse to let you off. I’m asking ten or twelve more people out from town. You must spend this evening with my guests, or forfeit my friendship.”