"Why I didn't marry him instead of Henry Lorraine, you were about to say," Stephanie finished. "Neither do I—it is only another exhibition of our sex's perverseness. And I've been paying the penalty for it ever since—and it is a long account." She shrugged her shoulders expressively. "You're going to the Croyden's ball tonight, I suppose."
"I am invited. I never miss anything at the Croyden's, if I can help it. They do things well. You're going, of course."
"I don't know—I feel rather listless today."
"Get over it," said Gladys briskly. "Your mother is away, so come and stay the night with me and we'll go together."
With the result that at ten o'clock the Chamberlain car deposited them at the entrance of the Croyden country-house—a huge place, with great, wide piazzas on all four sides, but so arranged that they minimized the extent of the house and made it seem only of average size.
In the dressing rooms they came upon Helen Burleston, Dorothy Tazewell and Arabella Rutledge. They all went down-stairs together, and greeted their host and hostess. Presently they were found by Devereux, Burgoyne and Cameron, and the eight of them strolled out on the west piazza.
Burgoyne was with Gladys and Stephanie, and Gladys enquired:
"Where is Miss Emerson, Sheldon; you and Devereux haven't both lost her, have you?"
"We haven't found her yet, I fancy!" Burgoyne laughed,—"at least, I haven't."
"Then it is safe to infer that she hasn't arrived. You're a good hunter, Sheldon."