“Will wait,” said Miriam.
Then, kneeling down by the stricken man whose face showed no expression as she turned it toward her, Miriam repeated, “It’s Martin, Rio, ... Martin ... we are going home.” Half lifting, half imploring, Martin got Rio to his feet, and as the man leaned heavily against him, they crossed the floor amid the horrified silence of the crowd.
Then “Boor!” ... “Common!” ... “Stiff!” ... came to Martin’s ears as he bore the weight of his friend onward to the doorway. At last, he could stand no more of it.
“You!” he cried, turning. “You! Leave us alone!—my friend and me!”
In the hall, Martin looked at Rio’s thrashed back.
“We’d better go to my room,” he said. “Call a cab for us, Patsy.” And he threw Deane’s coat over Rio.... As they left, they could hear the sound of music and dancing.
Carrie had gone into hysterics. Her high heel had caught in her train and ripped it open. She was rushing to the powder room when Drewena saw her. The hostess followed her guest through the groups of dancers and found Carrie on the ottoman, crying brokenly. Drewena closed and locked the door. Her lips were bitter—to have revealed herself and lost her caste over a graceless Polynesian was unbearable! She went through a hidden paneled doorway into Tai’s room and lightly kissed his fingers, listening to the sweet sound of his even breathing. Then opening the door into the corridor, she called the footman who brought Patsy to her at once.
“We are leaving, Patsy,” she said. “Arrange for an early departure. We will go to Paris. Cable Jacques to meet us.”
Patsy bowed.