"You'd both better join the Audubon Society for Mutual Protection," observed Annan dryly.
"I'll stand for anything she stands for except that social Tenderloin; I'll join anything she joins except the 'classes now forming' in that intellectual dance hall. By the way, who do you suppose was there?"
"The police?"
"Naw—the saloon wasn't raided, though 'Professor' Carrillo's poem was assez raide. Mek-mek-k-k-k! But oh, the ginky pictures! Oh, the Art Beautiful! Aniline rainbows exploding in a physical culture school couldn't beat that omelette!… And guess who was pouring tea in the centre of the olio, Harry!"
"You?" inquired Annan wearily.
"Valerie West."
"What in God's name has that bunch taken her up for?"
* * * * *
For the last few weeks Valerie's telephone had rung intermittently summoning her to conversation with Mrs. Hind-Willet.
At first the amiable interest displayed by Mrs. Hind-Willet puzzled Valerie until one day, returning to her rooms for luncheon, she found the Countess d'Enver's brougham standing in front of the house and that discreetly perfumed lady about to descend.