Rodney Merriam enjoyed his little party. It was going well, without effort on his part. He led his guests from the dining-room to the library, where a fire of hickory wood had just been lighted.
“There’s a parlor in this house, but the less you say about it the better,” said Merriam. “I found it here when I bought the house and I have never had the nerve to change it.”
“This is better,—much more intimate and homelike. I like it, Uncle Rodney. You may graciously invite me again,” said Zelda.
“I know a trick worth two of being invited. I just come. I suggest my method as having advantages;” and Leighton smiled at her.
“Yes. One is helpless against intruders,” declared Merriam; “privacy is a lost art. But I must except present company. All I have—anything you see—is yours to command, Zee. Better throw away that cigarette and have a cigar, Morris.”
“He’s in a generous mood to-night,” said Leighton to Zelda. “It’s well to seize and appropriate his worldly goods when he offers them. He’s offered you the house and given me a cigar.”
“I’m nothing if not polite,” declared Merriam. “But I don’t see what you’re complaining of, Morris. You haven’t lost your latch-key, have you?”
“No. But I wish to be sure that Miss Dameron understands how difficult you are.”
“Does that mean that you have to work hard to pay for the latch-key? Of course the compensations are sufficient,” observed Zelda.
“I’m not ashamed of the pains I took to get it. On the whole I think the labor flatters my good taste.”