“But your husband is expecting you,” protested Sir Lucien.
“Let’s ring him up and ask him to join us. He won’t, but he cannot very well object then.”
As a result they presently found themselves descending a broad carpeted stairway. From the rooms below arose the strains of an American melody. Dancing was in progress, or, rather, one of those orgiastic ceremonies which passed for dancing during this pagan period. Just by the foot of the stairs they paused and surveyed the scene.
“Why,” said Rita, “there is Quentin—glaring insanely, silly boy.”
“Do you see whom he is with?” asked Sir Lucien.
“Mollie Gretna.”
“But I mean the woman sitting down.”
Rita stood on tiptoe, trying to obtain a view, and suddenly:
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Mrs. Sin!”
The dance at that moment concluding, they crossed the floor and joined the party. Mrs. Sin greeted them with one of her rapid, mirthless smiles. She was wearing a gown noticeable, but not for quantity, even in that semi-draped assembly. Mollie Gretna giggled rapturously. But Gray’s swiftly changing color betrayed a mood which he tried in vain to conceal by his manner. Having exchanged a few words with the new arrivals, he evidently realized that he could not trust himself to remain longer, and: