“Better wait, Lily”—her fiancé extended his hand—“until the program is filled out the way it is going to stand.” And Blair fixed his handsome eyes on his future wife. “Why, we got this shindig up,” he noted irreverently, “just so Miss Lane could sing at it.”
“Nonsense,” she cried, angry and powerless, “you ridiculous creature! Fancy me getting up a musicale for Letty Lane! Do tell Dan to stop bothering and fussing, Gordon. He’s too ridiculous!”
And Lord Galorey said: “What is the row anyway?”
“Why, I want Miss Lane to sing here on Sunday,” Dan explained....
“And I don’t want her,” finished the Duchess of Breakwater, who was evidently unwilling to force a scene before Lord Galorey. She handed the list to her servant, but Dan intercepted it.
“Don’t send out that list, Lily, as it is.”
He gave it back to her, and his tone was so cool, his expression so decided and quiet, that she was disarmed, and dismissed the servant, telling him to return when she should ring again. Coloring with anger, she tapped the envelope against her brilliantly polished nails.
If she had been married to Blair she would have burst into a violent rage; if he had been poorer than he was she would have put him in his place. Lord Galorey understood the contraction of her brows and lips as Dan reminded: “You promised me that you would have her, you know, Lily.”
“Give in, Lily,” Galorey advised, rising from the chair where he was lounging. “Give in gracefully.”
And she turned on Galorey the anger which she dared not show the other man. But Dan interrupted her, explaining simply: