"I see."
There came a pause; then they talked of other things for a while until other people began to drop in, Arthur Ensart, Anne Randolph, and young Welter—Helter Skelter Welter, always, metaphorically speaking, redolent of saddle leather and reeking of sport. His theme happened to be his own wonderful trap record, that evening; and the fat, good-humoured, ardent young man prattled on about "unknown angles," and "incomers," until Dane, who had been hunting jaguars and cannibals along the unknown Andes, concealed his yawns with difficulty.
Ensart insisted on turning on the lights and starting the machine; and presently Anne Randolph and Peggy were dancing the Miraflores with Cecil and Ensart.
Welter had cornered Hargrave and Dane and was telling them all about it, and Athalie went slowly through the passage-way and into her own bedroom, where she stood quite motionless for a while, looking at the floor. Hafiz, dozing on the bed, awoke, gazed at his mistress gravely, yawned, and went to sleep again.
"His theme happened to be his own wonderful trap record, that evening."
Presently she dropped onto a chair by her little ivory-tinted Louis XVI desk. There was a telephone there and a directory.