He straightened and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, strolled to the window, where he stood with his back turned to the room, whistling softly between his teeth.
Betty pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her and when he wheeled about, she was apparently absorbed once more in her work.
"I, too, am wholly at Mrs. Atterbury's service." He strode back to her side. "You must not doubt that, Miss Shaw. I like you for your loyalty, even if you are ungracious to me. Will you not give me your hand, and say that we shall be friends?"
"If you insist." Betty forced a smile. "I am sorry if I appeared ungracious, but I am really very busy. Rudeness to any friend of Mrs. Atterbury is furthest from my thoughts."
She placed her hand shrinkingly in his, and he raised it to his lips in exaggerated gallantry.
"'The friends of my friends are my friends,'" he quoted. "You will find me at your service also, Miss Shaw. I will leave you now to your labors, and see if I am sufficiently in Welch's good graces to coax a cocktail from him."
When the door had closed behind him Betty rubbed her hand resentfully as if a stain remained from contact with his lips. Her thoughts were disquieting. What if she had indeed made an enemy of him? Was the extent of his influence in the household great enough to sow seeds of suspicion against her, and render her already difficult position all but intolerable? Was a new obstacle to be added to those which even now crowded everywhere about her path?
At luncheon she learned from Mrs. Atterbury's own lips what the visitor had meant about their seeing more of each other. Both Jack Wolvert and Madame Cimmino were to be house guests for a time, the latter having temporarily closed her apartment, and Wolvert coming on the plea of quiet and seclusion in which to finish a new composition.
Betty glanced at him with fresh interest. She had frequently heard snatches of brilliantly executed melody from the music room during the evening and knew that a master hand was touching the keys, but she had never entertained the idea that it might be Wolvert.
All idle thoughts were driven from her mind, however, when at the conclusion of the meal, Mrs. Atterbury summoned her to her room. As on the occasion of her appearance at the opera, a new costume was spread out before her, this time a gown and cloak of daintiest gray, with soft silvery furs.