That stirred them somewhat. She saw their interested faces turned toward her.
“With a bomb under his coat, of course, Lily.”
“He didn't bulge.”
“Good-looking?”
“Well, rather.”
“How old is he, Lily?” one of them asked, suspiciously.
“Almost fifty, I should say.”
“Good heavens!”
Their interest died. She could have revived it, she knew, if she mentioned Louis Akers; he would have answered to their prime requisite in an interesting man. He was both handsome and young. But she felt curiously disinclined to mention him.
The party broke up. By ones and twos luxuriously dressed little figures went down the great staircase, where Grayson stood in the hall and the footman on the doorstep signaled to the waiting cars. Mademoiselle, watching from a point of vantage in the upper hall, felt a sense of comfort and well-being after they had all gone. This was as it should be. Lily would take up life again where she had left it off, and all would be well.