Crofts smiled like a forgiven child, and returned with Mrs. Neff, who bustled in crying, "Ah, my dear, such luck to find you at home."
"So sweet of you to come," said Persis. She was in no mood for Mrs. Neff. She determined to be rid of her. She explained about the early dinner and begged to be excused lest Willie murder her for being late. Persis rang for Crofts, kissed Mrs. Neff a grateful good-by, and fled. As Crofts opened the door to let Mrs. Neff out he let Winifred Mather in. Crofts protested feebly that Persis was not at home, but Winifred came in anyway.
Winifred was just returned from Paris, foiled in her campaign for the late Ambassador, and determined to regain her control over Bob Fielding. She had not seen Mrs. Neff, and she had much to say. Ignoring the helpless Crofts, they drifted back to the drawing-room to swap scandals from the opposite shores of the ocean. In this fascinating barter they forgot the flight of time, forgot even the place they were in, for they fell to discussing Persis and her affair with Forbes.
Winifred had heard of it even in Paris.
"But what does Willie think of it?" she asked; "if he can think?"
"In any intrigue, my dear," Mrs. Neff pronounced, "the last three persons to learn what all the world knows are the husband and the two intriguers."
"I saw Bob Fielding yesterday," said Winifred. "He told me about it on the dock. He's furious at Persis. He said somebody ought to tell Willie."
"He's right, my dear," said Mrs. Neff; "but who wants to do that sort of job? It's like street-cleaning—very necessary and sanitary, but we don't care to do it ourselves, and we don't admire the people who do. Crooked things have a way of arranging themselves in this naughty world. Leave Persis alone. Some day some little accident she couldn't foresee—the mistake of a messenger-boy or a postman or somebody—and bang! out comes the whole scandal. Persis is clever, but she's juggling with dynamite."
It was only the last thirteen words that Persis overheard as she came down to the drawing-room, never dreaming that Mrs. Neff had not gone or that Winifred had come. Her slippers were soft, and her gown made no frou-frou. The voices of the women, softened to a ghoulish stealth, reached her with uncanny clearness.
She paused, struck to stone. Her heart pummeled her till her throat throbbed visibly. She wanted to fall down and die. She wanted to run from the house and from the town. Instead, she shook off every primitive impulse, and, tossing her head in defiance of fate, marched into the room with all the gracious majesty of a young queen going to her coronation. Her costume completed the picture: she was robed for the opera, and she wore her all-around crown of diamonds. She stared incredulously at Winifred, and cried with ardent hospitality: