Slosson colored a little. "Well, I've come more in contact with people, for a fact," he said awkwardly. "It's hard to explain—"
"No, it isn't!" she countered. "You're in constructive business, Pete. Happiness always comes to the builder, don't you think? Only a positive and constructive person can perceive the real good in things and people—"
She checked herself abruptly, conscious that some one had come to a stop almost behind her chair. She saw Slosson glance up and change countenance. Then a genially maudlin voice broke in upon her—a voice whose liquor-tinged accents sent a shiver through her whole body.
"Hullo, Slosson! In town and throwing a party, eh? By gad, old man—"
Dorothy turned her head. Her inquiring gaze met the eyes of Macgowan. His words died out, and for an instance there was dead silence.
Macgowan was sobered by his incredible and ghastly error. For once his glib tongue was daunted; under Dorothy's gaze, a slow, deep flush crept into his cheeks. Sweat started upon his brow. Dorothy regarded him calmly, without apparent recognition.
"Why, it's Mr. Macgowan!" exclaimed Mrs. Deming.
"Yes," echoed Dorothy, still gazing at him. "Yes, it's Mr. Macgowan, the liar and traitor, the Judas who betrayed his friend. He seems to have been celebrating his treachery, to judge from his voice. I suppose we should diagnose his ailment as spiritual leprosy. Be careful you're not infected, Pete! I'd be sorry to think of you as being in the same class with this man."
She calmly turned her back on Macgowan. The effect of her impersonal arraignment was frightful. A mortal pallor in his face, Macgowan managed a slight, stiff bow, turned, and went his way. Under the circumstances, that bow was more than a parting gesture; it was an achievement.
Mrs. Deming was staring at her daughter with horrified eyes.