"Yes!" returned Nadine Holt, sharply.
Then it occurred to her that she could find out something about the lover who had deserted her. And there was another thing which puzzled her greatly. The name which he had given the florist was not the one by which she had known him—she would find out all by this man. Now he was calling himself Mr. Harry Kendal—that was the name he had given the florist.
"In whose honor is the ball given, my good fellow?" she asked, with an assumption of carelessness.
For a moment he looked stupidly at her.
"I mean, who is giving the ball?" she added.
"Oh, it's Mr. Kendal, ma'am—leastwise, he and Miss Dorothy are giving it together."
She started as though a serpent had stung her, then stood perfectly still and looked at the man with gleaming eyes.
"Miss Dorothy—who?" she asked, knowing full well what his answer must be.
"Miss Dorothy Glenn, ma'am," he replied. "But she won't be 'miss' very long, for she is soon to marry Mr. Kendal."
"Soon to marry him!" she repeated, vaguely, saying in the next breath, "then they are not already married," muttering the words more to herself than to the man. "Where does this girl, Dorothy live?" she asked, suddenly.