She laughed lightly.
"You see," she said. "He is already rehabilitated. No one blames the man for long. It rather adds to his attractiveness indeed—particularly with the woman. He comes back, and all his clubs receive him; Society blinks its eyes a bit, looks shocked and welcomes him. Yet it raises its hands in horror at me! Society never seems to realize that a woman cannot commit the unpardonable sin alone—a man has got to be her accomplice."
"It's rotten philosophy, Stephanie, but it's the way of the world," he said.
"It's the way of the world and I was aware of it, you mean," she replied. "Certainly, I knew it before and I know it now—but I didn't think of it at the time. Look at these dear people—pretending not to notice me, yet watching covertly like a cat a mouse. And you're coming in for your share, too, Montague. They are simply perishing from curiosity—to know what we are talking about. They will hold you up to know, when I'm gone."
He smiled and raised his shoulders a trifle.
She knew well that none would venture to mention the matter to him.
"I'm going, now," she said. "Will you escort me down this path of sweet charity flanked by gentle spirits, Mr. Pendleton?"
"I would ask you to dine with me to-night but unfortunately I'm promised to the Emersons—Burgoyne and I."
"They are getting on!" she remarked. "Two years ago and they would not have had the nerve to ask you. It's the daughter, I suppose?"
"You mean that she is the reason for my dining with them—or the reason for their coming on?" he asked.