Roberts flushed and returned to his chair, while Martin sat down on the divan beside Deane. Carol, who had been watching the two men with fascination, leaned back sighing, a satisfied look softening his features as he drew out his cigarette holder.
“I knew New York would be this way—just this way. And I just love it!” He cocked his head at Martin and nodded wisely. “The swift pace of commerce,” he added.
“Who said that?” asked Martin, amused.
Carol looked embarrassed.
“Why, I—why, I think the salesman did. But it was so apt—the salesman said—” He hesitated, and Martin raised his hand in agreement.
“It is apt, Carol,” he replied. “I should know. It takes experience to make one understand ‘the swift pace of commerce.’ Mr. Roberts realizes this, too, though in a different way; for he’ll never let commerce get at his heels.”
“Indeed, I won’t,” said Roberts vehemently. “I’ll follow it, trip it, mold it and make it carry me.” He was about to continue when Deane spoke quietly, but with a certain implied request. Her beautiful eyes gleamed in the shaded light.
“Did you keep your appointment, Carol?” she asked, turning to him with mild interest.
“No, dear,” he answered in a puzzled voice. “No, we must have been—well, mixed up,” he went on more precisely. “So I went to the park—Washington Square, the policeman said it was. But oh!—I just felt so blue I had to call you up.” He held a silken handkerchief daintily under his nose and let it flutter with his breath. “But there’s a glorious moon,” he continued, looking at Martin. “It really seems to be dancing. And speaking of dancing—I saw the cutest thing at a show the other night!” He became enthusiastic and stood up, still holding on to the handkerchief with one hand while he placed the other on his hip. Then he turned his head a little and looked coyly over one shoulder.
“What was it like?” asked Deane, a strange smile on her lips.