Her husband laughed and finished his whisky and soda. Then twirling his motor goggles around his fingers he stood looking at Strelsa.
"You're a pretty little peach," he said sentimentally, "and I'm sorry Molly is here or——"
"Do you care?" laughed Strelsa, looking around at him over her shoulder. "I don't mind being adored by you, Jim."
"Don't you, sweetness?"
"Indeed I don't."
Wycherly started toward her: Langly Sprowl, who neither indulged in badinage nor comprehended it in others, turned a perfectly expressionless face on his host, who said:
"You old muffin head, did you ever smile in your life? You'd better try now because I'm going to take your best girl away from you!"
Which bored Sprowl; and he turned his lean, narrow head away as a sleek and sinister dog turns when laughed at.
Strelsa slipped clear of the piano and vanished, chased heavily by Wycherly.
Molly said: "It's time to dress, good people. Langly, your man is upstairs with your outfit. Come, Chrysos, dear—Rix, have you everything you want?" she added in a low voice as he stood aside for her to pass: "Have you everything, Ricky?"