"Mrs. Wildair and Mrs. Colonel Gleason used to insist it was liquid rouge, but Captain Arlingford and I knew better, and told them all country girls had great flaming red cheeks just like that. We were right, were we not, Georgia?"
Still dumb. Her silence was beginning to startle even Freddy's admirable equanimity.
"And now, my dear Georgia, I must really tear myself away from you. When shall I say we are to be honored by your charming presence again?"
The white lips parted, one hand was slightly raised.
"Are you done?" she said, in a voice so husky that it was almost inaudible.
"Ye—yes," said Freddy, startled in spite of herself. "I only await your answer, my dear."
For all answer, Georgia stepped back, closed the door in the very face of the insolent girl, and locked it.
For one moment Freddy stood transfixed, while her sallow face grew sallower, and her thin lips fairly trembled with impotent rage. Turning a look of concentrated spite and hatred toward the door, she descended the stairs.
"Well, Freddy," said Mrs. Wildair, when she re-entered the parlor, "how is Georgia?"
"Not very well, I should say, by her looks—how she felt, she did not condescend to tell me," unable for once to suppress the bitterness she felt.