Jac flew upstairs. Wyn lingered a moment.
"Are you coming to bed, Osmond?" she said, anxiously, as she saw him unlock the door leading to the studio.
"I think I'll have a pipe first," he answered, in a constrained voice. "Run to bed and don't bother."
She hesitated a moment, but, seeing that interference would be useless, went on upstairs, and joined the séance round Hilda's fire.
"Well," said Hilda, with a long sigh, "it was a delightful dance, wasn't it?"
"The nicest I was ever at," returned Jac, with smiles dimpling round her mouth.
Wyn did not echo these comments. She sat down with a sigh, and pulled off her gloves.
"How well our lilies have lasted, Hilda," said Jac, spying at her own head in the glass. "Not a bit faded, are they? Wyn, you old wretch, you did look well. How everybody praised you up. I should think your head is turned."
"Humph!" was Wyn's discontented reply.
There was a pause, during which Jac secured Hilda's programme, and stealthily examined it.