“Yes. I’ll tell you about her later——”
“In a moment, Garry.” Thessalie looked across the room at the girl for a second or two longer, then turned a troubled, preoccupied gaze on Barres. “Have you a letter from me? I posted it last night.”
“Not yet.”
The doorbell rang. He could hear more guests entering the corridor beyond. A faint smile—the forced smile of courage—altered Thessalie’s features now, until it became a fixed and pretty mask.
“Contrive to give me a moment alone with you this evening,” she whispered. “My need is great, Garry.”
“Whenever you say! Now?”
“No. I want to talk to that young girl first.”
They walked over to where Dulcie stood by the piano, silent and self-possessed.
“Thessa,” he said, “this is Miss Soane, who graduated from high school to-day, and in whose honour I am giving this little party.” And to Dulcie he said: “Miss Dunois and I were friends when I lived in France. Please tell her about your picture, which you and I are doing.” He turned as he finished speaking, and went forward to welcome Esmé Trenor and Damaris Souval, who happened to arrive together.