“No, Baltimore,” answered Kate. “Working up from the bottom in her father’s steel mill, I believe. That’s where she got the muscles. The thick head came naturally though.” Kate opened her purse and took out a small bottle of perfume from which she removed the stopper. Shaking a few drops of the scent on her fingers, she touched them to her ears and throat, patting the remaining moisture on the imperceptible beard around her chin.
Just then, Patsy’s familiar voice announced “Miss Roberts.”
Drewena was standing by the door as the newcomer, somber of face even through her high, natural coloring, and as Drewena thought, all the more beautiful because of her stone-like gravity, entered the drawing room; for, dressed in a cunningly fashioned gown of silver cloth, she looked more like an impassioned Joan of Arc in mailed armor than a modern executive of lives. Around her throat lay her mother’s string of black pearls, and her hands were encased in an unusual muff of blue fox.
“I’m so glad you came after all, Roberta,” said the hostess quietly. “You have been keeping too much to yourself, and I’m sure that you’ll have a little fun to-night. Carrie is here—she’s the most amusing camp! And Kate, and Beulah, and Docky——”
“Damn them all!” interrupted Roberta. “Take me to that corner over there where no one is standing.”
Drewena saw the painful expression on her face and nodded agreement, sitting down with her for a moment.
“Is Martin coming to-night?” asked Roberta nervously.
“Why, yes,” said Drewena. “That is, I think so. I sent him a note, urging him to be here. I have such a pretty name for him.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” answered Roberta, a little absently, tapping her silver slipper against the side of her chair. “Is Rio coming?”
“Indeed not,” said Drewena, amazed at the question. “Ask that man up?—I should say not!”