"Mr. Halstead. Mr. Vernon Halstead, please.… Well, wake him, then.… I can't help that, it's important."
There was a full minute's pause and then a querulous, sleepy voice grumbled over the wire.
"That you, Vernie? This is Starr.… Just last night.… No, you won't, either, you're not supposed to know I'm in town till someone else tells you later in the day, do you understand?… The racket is this: I've got to see you at once, privately. I'll wait here just twenty minutes for you.… Yes, you can and you will! You seem to forget, my friend, that I hold the whip hand.… No hard feelings, Vernie, but you know what's in store for you if you don't do what you're told… That's better! In twenty minutes? Right!"
Willa, meantime, had plowed her way through the slush in the Park on her early morning canter, and surrendered herself listlessly to the hands of her hair-dresser. A morning musicale, a luncheon, four teas, a dinner, opera and a dance formed the program of the day before her and she quailed in spirit. The novelty of the first few weeks following her initial dinner party had worn off, and greater ease and familiarity with the social round brought with it only an added restlessness and contempt.
There had been no clash, of late, between her will and that of the wary Mrs. Halstead, but the latter watched her every move with argus eyes and directed each detail of the day so implacably that Willa had followed the line of least resistance, save in one particular: she still slipped away at odd moments and left no trail.
Mrs. Halstead was therefore suspicious when, after the luncheon, Willa pleaded a headache, and announced flatly that she would take a siesta in lieu of attending the receptions.
"But, my dear, surely you will make an effort to put in an appearance, at least at the Allardyce's. I am particularly anxious that you make an impression there; they are most exclusive, and if they take you up your position is assured. You cannot afford to miss this opportunity."
"Oh, yes, I can." The smooth, dominant voice roused Willa swiftly to white heat. "I haven't seen anything about this outfit yet that comes too high for Grandfather Murdaugh's money."
It was the first cynical remark that had ever fallen from the girl's lips, but she was learning fast, and Mrs. Halstead recognized the storm signals and withdrew.
In the hall, she encountered Willa's maid, a bright-eyed, hard-featured Frenchwoman.