Marcia's eyes were as round as saucers, and Mrs. Ames was surveying her unexpectedly distinguished guest with a respectful surprise of which Robert would never have dreamed her capable.
"Why have you never mentioned it to me?" cried Marcia, and there was reproach in her tone.
Hayden, annoyed at first, determined to out‑match Ydo in her audacity, "But I have," he cried, his eyes alight with fun, "only I called it by a different name."
"A different name!" she puzzled.
"One of the names in the vernacular," explained Robert with grave mendacity, "is the cake! I have often spoken to you, Miss Oldham, of 'the cake.' Of course, it has also its imposing Latin name."
It was Ydo's turn to look puzzled now; the conversation seemed to be slipping away from her into channels that she could not follow. "Truly," she cried, "I want a string of those lovely butterflies, so I will make you an offer, Mr. Hayden. I'll buy that butterfly. Name your price."
"Believe me, mademoiselle, as I have told you before, there is no price you could name which would tempt me to sell outright." His jaw looked very square and his gray eyes gazed very steadily into her dancing green ones.
The Mariposa made a little face, a combination of lifted brows and twisted mouth. "Just so," she said spreading out her hands, "about what I expected; but even if you can't be tempted to sell outright, I dare say you do not mind showing the photographs?"
Hayden smiled grimly. "That is ingenuous, señorita. Of course, I have no objection to showing the photographs—at the proper time."
Mrs. Ames picked up her gloves and rose. "I don't know what you're talking about. It's all Greek to me," with her strident cackle, "but this I do know, Hurlburt—Hammerton—and that is she'll get ahead of you, this Gipsy girl. Never doubt that."