It was impossible to resent the frank criticism or the speaker as she stood there in her most extraordinary attire. For the fluffy, chiffony petticoats ended just below the knees, and over her shoulders she had thrown a lacy matinée jacket, adorned with pale blue ribbons and showing a neck and throat perfect in a miniature way. Her hair—jet black and in remarkable contrast to her eyes, which seemed as though they should belong to a head of flaxen hair—was rather short, but fell about her shoulders in curly masses.
Claudia was completely at a loss how to answer this very naive tribute to her charms. But Fay was used to making the entire conversation, and she went on without noticing any lack of conversational powers on the part of her visitor.
“I might have known it wasn’t Maudie, though, because she uses so much scent it’s like a chemist’s shop coming into your room. I like a little sprayed on myself, but she puts it on with a garden hose. I’ve told her about it heaps of times. I think it’s such bad taste, don’t you?”
It was not quite the conversation Claudia had vaguely imagined. And yet, though Fay gabbled on, her words coming at a tremendous speed, she felt that her hostess was taking good stock of her. At the back of those childish eyes there was a shrewd little brain. She showed this by her next words:
“You’re hopping mad with Jack and me, aren’t you? I never saw Jack in such a state as the morning when the thing came out in the newspaper.” She gave a little chuckle. “I must say I enjoyed it. I like to keep my name before the public, for one thing. You’ve got to keep on working some sensation, or you’re passed over.” She pulled her hand out of the jug and dried it on a towel, which she flung on the very ornate bed. It had a lace coverlet over pale blue satin, and enormous bows of pale blue satin ribbon ornamented the corners. A huge nightdress-case of the same satin painted with pink roses was lying on the frilled pillows, which were also threaded with pale blue.
She came over to where Claudia was standing. “I say, don’t be mad with me. I like you. I didn’t think I would. I thought you’d be starchy and turn up your nose at me. It was nice of you to think of that hot water for my hand. Sit down and make friends with me, will you?”
Claudia appreciated her charm as she stood in front of her, playing with her sable muff. It was the charm of the gamine-child.
“I—I came to have a little talk with you,” returned Claudia, smiling. You simply could not help smiling at it.
“That’s right. Sit down. Bless me, there never is a chair that isn’t littered up.” She took a handful of clothes and threw them carelessly on the floor. “Now just sit down there and tell me what the people you know say about me. I suppose I shouldn’t have married Jack, and I told him at first he’d better run away and play with Lady Somebody or other. But he wouldn’t go. He’ll tell you that if you ask him.”