Lucy was too indignant to make any answer, but hastily left the room. Mr. Howard surveyed himself critically in the long pier glass, turning himself this way and that. His appearance seemed to please him as he turned with a satisfied air to the door, through which he disappeared. Jumping into a waiting coupe, he gave an order to the driver, and was soon on his way, not to the club, but to the florists, where he found a magnificent bouquet awaiting him. He looked it over carefully; it proved satisfactory, and, handing the man a crisp ten dollar bill he drove rapidly away again, but still not to the club. The driver did not seem to need any instructions as to where to go, but soon drew up in front of a large, brilliantly-lighted house.
As Mr. Howard mounted the steps the door opened and two women appeared. Both were young and exceedingly good looking. They each gave him a hand and a warm welcome. To the taller of the two he handed the flowers, in which she immediately buried her face, and after giving them a little sniff, said: “You are a perfect jewel, Mr. Howard, to bring me these lovely flowers. I never saw anyone as delightfully thoughtful as you are.”
“If you are pleased with them I am happy, for to please you, what would I not do.”
“You are just too sweet for anything, to say such pretty things to me. But why are you so late? I have been looking for you ever so long.”
“Oh, its my wife again. She has been treating me to another lecture.”
“You poor fellow! So she is jealous? Well, I can’t blame her. I should be horribly jealous if I were your wife, you are so good looking, you know.”
Some way, this last remark of the gay Miss Rosie Hastings did not please Mr. Howard, for, although he cared really nothing for his wife, he did not like the idea that Rosie Hastings should for a moment imagine herself as his wife. For much as he frequented that lively young person’s home he did not like her to assume too much.
“But come,” she continued, “before the crowd gets here, lets you and I have a little music. I will play your accompaniments and you shall sing to me. I do so love to hear you sing.”
Could it be possible Harry Howard had forgotten the conversation of not an hour previous, as he replied, “that’s a capital idea. I am just in the mood for a few songs.”
One gay song followed another until the spacious rooms had begun to fill up with young men and women. There was an air of freedom about the young women which at once proclaimed them as not of the social set who feel the need of a chaperone. Dancing was soon begun and lasted well into the morning hours. Mr. Howard was one of those who seemed to enjoy the dancing immensely, notwithstanding the fact that he had told his wife that he cared nothing for that sort of thing.