"How do you manage it?" she said admiringly. "Even in this sweltering heat, when the rest of us look as though we had run in the wash, you give the impression that you've just stepped out of a refrigerated bandbox."
"Appearances are as deceitful as usual, then," replied Kitty, sinking down into an arm-chair and unfurling a small fan. "I'm simply melted! Am I the first arrival?" she continued. "Where's Nan?"
"She and Peter are decorating the tea-table—smiles and things, you know"—Penelope waved an explanatory hand.
Kitty nodded.
"I think my plan was a good one, don't you? Peter's been an excellent antidote to Maryon Rooke," she observed complacently.
"I'm not so sure," returned Penelope with characteristic caution. "I think a married man—especially such an _un_married married man as Pete—is rather a dangerous antidote."
"Nonsense! They both know he's married! And they've both got normal common-sense."
"But," objected Penelope, suddenly and unexpectedly, "love has nothing whatever to do with common-sense."
Kitty gazed at her in frank amazement.
"Penelope! What's come to you? We've always regarded you as the severely practical member of the community, and here you are talking rank heresy!"