"And I believe I've seen you, but I don't know where."
"Hitchcock would say," remarked Graham, "that probably you had been well acquainted in Nineveh or Babylon or some other ancient burg."
Mr. Kennedy smiled, and took the chair Graham had pulled forward for him. "Who's Hitchcock?" he asked.
"Oh, a nut that Peggy used to have here till I told her she'd have to choose between us."
"Graham, what a misleading thing to say."
"Well, it might give the wrong impression, I confess. Peggy didn't care much about him herself, but one of her friends had a case on him."
"Sh!" warned Peggy, in an agony as she heard Priscilla's footsteps outside. She filled the somewhat awkward pause by springing to her feet, crying as she ran to the door, "You needn't ring; I hear you."
The results of the half hour Priscilla had given to vanity were more evident, Graham thought, than in Peggy's case. Peggy could be disheveled and still irresistible. Priscilla's rather stately beauty was more exacting in its demands. In her dress of pale green voile, which set off her clear pallor and the beauty of her smooth, dark hair, she looked the incarnate spirit of spring. Even Graham stared.
Peggy, her arm slipped caressingly through Priscilla's, led her forward. "Priscilla, this is Graham's friend, Mr. Kennedy. Miss Combs—"