Rosalie nodded; Delancy said: "Miss Seagrave has been good enough to ask the family. Yours is booked, too, I fancy."
"Yes, if my father only feels up to it. Christmas at Roya-Neh ought to be a jolly affair."
"Christmas anywhere away from New York ought to be a relief," observed young Grandcourt drily.
They laughed without much spirit. Coffee was served, cigarettes lighted. Presently Grandcourt sent a page to find out if the car had returned from the garage where Rosalie had sent it for a minor repair.
The car was ready, it appeared; Rosalie retired to readjust her hair and veil; the two men standing glanced at one another:
"I suppose you know," said Delancy, reddening with embarrassment, "that Mr. and Mrs. Dysart have separated."
"I heard so yesterday," said Duane coolly.
The other grew redder: "I heard it from Mrs. Dysart about half an hour ago." He hesitated, then frankly awkward: "I say, Mallett, I'm a sort of an ass about these things. Is there any impropriety in my going about with Mrs. Dysart—under the circumstances?"
"Why—no!" said Duane. "Rosalie has to go about with people, I suppose. Only—perhaps it's fairer to her if you don't do it too often—I mean it's better for her that any one man should not appear to pay her noticeable attention. You know what mischief can get into print. What's taken below stairs is often swiped and stealthily perused above stairs."
"I suppose so. I don't read it myself, but it makes game of my mother and she finds a furious consolation in taking it to my father and planning a suit for damages once a week. You're right; most people are afraid of it. Do you think it's all right for me to motor back with Mrs. Dysart?"