"You pretty thing!" exclaimed Geraldine, kissing her, "no wonder you attract the really interesting men and leave me the dreadful fledglings! It's bad of you; and I don't see why I'm stupid enough to have such an attractive woman for my closest"—a kiss—"dearest friend! Even Duane is villain enough to tell me that he finds you overwhelmingly attractive. Did you know it?"
Geraldine's careless gaiety seemed spontaneous enough; yet there was the slightest constraint in Kathleen's responsive smile:
"Duane isn't to be taken seriously," she said.
"Not by any means," nodded Geraldine, twirling her crop.
"I'm glad you understand him," observed Kathleen, gazing at the point of her sunshade. She looked up presently and met Geraldine's dark gaze. Again there came that almost imperceptible hesitation; then:
"I certainly do understand Duane Mallett," said Geraldine carelessly.
"Shall I wait for you?" asked Kathleen. "We can lunch out together and drive in the Park later."
"I'm too lazy even to take off my boots and habit. Where's that volume of Mendez you thought fit to hide from me, you wretch?"
"Why on earth did you buy it?"
"I bought it because Rosalie Dysart says Mendez is a great modern master of prose——"