"You mustn't call me sweetheart, dear—I mean," with a rush of color to her cheeks, "I mean, you must not now.—It is unwise—and some one may overhear."
"And when we're where no one can overhear?" he whispered.
The entrancing smile flashed for an instant across her face.
"Wait until then," she answered. "We have more serious matters confronting us. What shall we do in event of Porshinger effecting anything against me, directly or by his tales? I'm fearfully afraid, Montague, fearfully afraid!"
"Don't be afraid, Stephanie, don't be afraid!" he counselled. "Let us do as I suggested—it is the best plan.—Here comes Gladys; does she know about Porshinger?"
"No—I've not told her yet," she said hastily.—"Yes, it was a very gorgeous affair—we're discussing the Croyden Ball, my dear"—as Miss Chamberlain came up, "but then all their affairs are gorgeous and in exquisite taste."
"They are, indeed," assented Gladys; "but I thought that last night they surpassed themselves. I never saw anything so charming as the conservatory. You know how huge it is, and there wasn't a light visible, yet the illumination was so subtly subdued that you seemed to see all about you, and yet you didn't—you know what I mean, Montague. I'm a bit vague——"
"Precisely!" said Pendleton. "You couldn't trust yourself to believe anything that you thought you saw"—and he shot a glance at Stephanie.
"You have it exactly, just the idea I intended to convey!" she laughed. "You are a very satisfactory man—isn't he, Stephanie?"