"Am I very frightfully late?" she inquired unconcernedly. "So sorry; having only one hand makes you awkward, you know. Do you mind doing this for me, Birdie?"
She stood bending her graceful head while Miss Byrd settled the rose point of her collar. She was wearing a velvet dress, very rich, very sumptuous, cut open at the throat and bordered with sable fur. Round her neck went a gold chain, rough links nearly an inch across, hanging to her knees and looking barbarously heavy. She sank into a chair, and there was the gleam of a golden shoe, a Cinderella slipper with jeweled straps crossing on the arch of a silken instep. What a transformation! But the greater change was in her manner.
"Have you been to church?" she asked. "How pious of you! I haven't; but then I'm not pious, you know. I went for a joy-ride instead. My hand? Oh yes, thanks, I managed all right. I generally do manage to do what I want to," she added, spreading out a slender hand with the diamonds upon it which Lettice had admired long ago. She looked up at Denis through her lashes. "No, I didn't want to come yesterday; not particularly; wasn't that sad? But I did want you to come here this afternoon—"
"That's all right, since here I am," Denis interrupted, laughing at her. He put her off for an instant, but only for an instant; she recovered herself, and swept on:
"And I'll tell you why: because I wanted a real heart-to-heart talk, without any aeroplanes or things to interrupt. I've a bone to pick with you."
"A bone to pick, have you?"
"A big, big bone. Another lump of sugar, please, Birdie—yes, that little fella will do; I shan't let you make tea if you don't give me enough sugar. Why didn't you ever tell us that exciting story about Mr. Gardiner?"
She leaned back among her cushions, stirring her cup, watching Denis with those dark eyes full of overt insolence and covert eagerness. But Denis was not noticing subtleties of expression; this time she had got home.
"What excitin' story about Mr. Gardiner?"