"Just what do you mean by that?"
"Well, it's hard to say." Wren hesitated. "He seems to be all on the surface, but he's not. He knows more than you'd think. There are good solid depths to him."
Dorothy abruptly changed the subject.
When they rose to leave, the party of three near the entrance were still in place. Jimmy Wren was close behind Dorothy. As they passed the table, the woman who called herself Mrs. Bird Fowler glanced up, met the gaze of Dorothy—and into her eyes leaped sudden, startled recognition. Dorothy halted, with every appearance of delighted surprise.
"Dorothy Deming!" exclaimed the other woman, almost mechanically.
"Why, Viola Bland!" broke from Dorothy at the same instant. "Who on earth would have thought of meeting you here—and how well you're looking! I'm so glad to see you!"
"Won't you sit down—"
"Oh, my dear, I'm simply rushed to death! We're very late now—I daren't stop even for a minute. Call me up some day, won't you? Mrs. Reese Armstrong, you know—good-by!"
Dorothy swept on. At the entrance she turned to Jimmy Wren. His face was indescribable.
"Leave the wraps, Jimmy. Come and sit down. I want to talk with you."