“I’ll blow up that way to-morrow afternoon,” Sam promised.
Which he did—only to be amazed himself at the effect Thurley had managed to create. Her living room had a blue floor, a blue arch and lapis lazuli colored pedestals. There was a turquoise satin fire screen, a globe of blue Bristol glass and the walls and ceilings were done in rich, silver leaf paper with impossible gilt furniture set at futurist angles throughout the apartment. Apricot linen curtains threw a strange, mellow glow on the black dining-room, the walls being brocaded black velvet with red alabaster bowls on tripods and a riotous futurist frieze running about the room. There were side tables of audacious rose-red marble and the dining table and chairs were polished ebony while an onyx-like mantel boasted of silver bowls heaped with glass colored fruits.
Sam, who knew no restraint, came rapping boldly at the door of Thurley’s own room, after an astonished stroll through the apartment.
A chic maid opened the door with the properly startled expression always registered in Caleb’s novels.
“I say, Thurley, you’ve done yourself proud,” Sam lounged in the doorway to view the white Empire furniture with elaborate gold scroll, the blue velvet hangings, the cabinet of slippers and hair ornaments arranged, no one knew why, not even Thurley herself, as if for display.
Thurley, who was preparing to take dinner at the Hotel Particular with half a dozen new and decidedly unconventional creatures, tried to look indignant.
“You’re a monster,” she said as she shook her finger at him in imitation of Lissa. At which Sam burst out laughing and vowed he would have her for his leading lady no matter if he had to send Bliss flying off yon cliff.
“You ridiculous child,” spoiling her dignity completely, “who in the world started you to shake fingers in old beaux’ faces? And dressing like the adventuress in ‘Lights o’ London’? Do put on your rumpled blue serge and let’s go for a drive!”
Thurley swept by him in indignation, Sam following and side-stepping her train. She wore a band of black jet in her carefully dressed hair and a gown of black to match, over which was a long cape of unspotted ermine.
She stood beside the piano to draw on her gloves. “It isn’t fair to scold in front of a new maid,” she said, “and contradict me or not, Sam, I am grown up. I can’t go about like a flapper or keep on living in a hotel.”