Mrs. Hemphill must have been amazed at the gratitude I showered upon her for her invitation. I wrung Mr. Hemphill's hand with enthusiasm, as Helen glided up to me and took my arm. It was an exit in triumph.
Across the street we paused for a moment outside her front door.
"Good-night," I said. "Dream true."
"I'm not yet the Duchess of Towers," came her reply, as she vanished through the door. So she knew Peter Ibbetson!
Turning toward my little flat on the other side of the town came to me the bitter after the sweet. She had not invited me to call! I had not liked to ask, held back by a kind of stupid pride. Besides, I had been most certain she would ask me, and she hadn't. The rest of my walk was deep in gloom again.
Knowlton was sitting up for me. He made free of my rooms whenever he liked.
"Well," he greeted me, "how do you like the F. F.'s of Deep Harbor?"
"The dinner party was rather mixed, but on the whole not bad."
"From that I infer that the mixture contained at least one charming ingredient."
This shot was too near home for comfort; therefore I did not deign a reply.