They could tell by the interest in the room when the actress was coming, and both men rose as Letty Lane floated in at flood tide with a crowd of last arrivals.
She had not dressed this evening with the intention that her dark simplicity of attire should be conspicuous. The cloak which Dan took from her shed the perfume of orris and revealed the woman in a blaze of sparkling paillettes. She seemed made out of sparkle, and her blond head, from which a bright ornament shook, was the most brilliant thing about her, though her dress from hem to throat glistened with discs of gold like moonshine on a starry sea. The actress’ look of surprise when she saw Ruggles indicated that she had not expected a boy of his age.
“The other boy?” she asked. “Well, this is the nicest supper party ever! And you are awfully good to invite me.”
Ruggles patted his shirt front and adjusted his cravat.
“My idea,” he told her, “all the blame on me, Miss Lane. Charge it up to me! Dan here had cold feet from the first. He said you wouldn’t come.”
She laughed deliciously.
“He did? Hasn’t got much faith, has he?”
Miss Lane drew her long gloves off, touched the orchids with her little hands, on which the ever present rings flashed, and went on talking to Ruggles, to whom she seemed to want to address her conversation.
“I’m simply crazy over these flowers.”
The older man showed his pleasure. “My choice again! Walked up myself and chose the bunch, blame me again; ditto dinner; mine from start to finish—hope you’ll like it. I would have added some Montana peas and some chocolate soda-water, only I thought you might not understand the joke.”