He obeyed meekly, a man inwardly stricken. They turned into the lounge and Dorothy took possession of a sofa.
"Light a cigarette, Jimmy. You need it."
"I do," he assented bitterly, and drew a deep breath. "By gad! Isn't there a mistake?"
His very tone showed that he knew there was no mistake. Dorothy leaned back and in silence studied him for a moment or two. She was not enjoying her triumph; when Wren looked up and met her eyes, he realized this.
"Jimmy, it hurt," she said simply. "Can't you see why I did it? Because I like you. Because Reese likes you. I suppose she always wears white? Some people do; it seems to be a matter of necessity."
Wren started at that.
"It's not true!" he exclaimed, but his impulsive speech died in silence.
Dorothy shrugged. "My dear Jimmy, just stop and think what was said. I don't believe any argument is necessary."
Wren was in torment. He saw, clearly enough, the absolute finality of the whole thing. When "Mrs. Bird Fowler" gave vent to her recognition of Dorothy, she had been lost beyond any appeal of error. Now Dorothy continued coolly.
"If you have any doubts in the matter, take a trip to Evansville and ask questions. You might as well get it all in one blunt and brutal shock, and have it over. I'm sorry for your sake, Jimmy, but I'd be much sorrier if—if I had just let things go on."