Pat had been mulcted of that dance which she had rebelliously promised herself. But there was compensation in overflowing measure.
She had had her taste of life.
CHAPTER IV
Vagrant airs from the window of the small library playfully stirred the bright tendrils on Constance Fentriss's neck. The girl was a picture of unconscious grace and delight as she sat, with her great, heavy-lashed eyes fixed in speculation, her curving lips a little drawn down, her gracious, girlish figure relaxed in the deep chair. Across the room Mary Delia was skimming hopefully the pages of Town Topics for scandals about people she knew. She lifted her head and asked carelessly:
"What doing, Con?"
"Figuring out a letter."
"Who to?" (Mary Delia's higher education, inclusive of "correct" English, had cost something more than ten thousand dollars.)
"A certain party." This was formula, current in their set and deemed to possess a mildly satiric flavour.