IX
It was nearly three o’clock before the last guest left. The flowers in the deserted rooms had drooped and faded; even the lights seemed to have dimmed. The house wore an air of melancholy. Fanny and Guy came from the dining-room, where they had eaten a second supper.
“I wonder where Aunt and Uncle are?” she said. “Doesn’t it seem ghostly?” She yawned, covering her cheeks with both hands. “Ugh! I guess they’re in the library.”
Helen Briggs was seated in one of the big easy-chairs, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her husband sat beside her, looking down at her face.
“Flirting, as usual!” said Fanny. Then she added: “Well, wasn’t it grand?”
“Better go to bed,” said Briggs, sleepily.
Helen half-opened her eyes. “I’m glad you had a good time, dear.”
“Everybody seemed pleased,” said Guy, with a glance at Douglas. He liked to look at things from the professional point of view.
“Fanny, do go to bed,” Helen insisted.