When, therefore, on the day after her adventure with Justin Bettina took off her wrap in the cloak room of the yacht club, Sara Duffield drew a sharp breath of amazement.
"Will you look at that gown, Doris?" she said to her placid friend. "Would any one but an artist have dared to put on that side sash of rose-colored tulle with the silver tassel, and the wide collar of silver lace?"
Justin Ford, knowing nothing of dressmakers, was none the less aware of the inspired creation.
"And I said yesterday that you could not wear pink! But this isn't pink, is it? It's a rosy cloud on a May morning."
"Do you really like it?" demanded Bettina.
"I love—it."
Bettina laughed light-heartedly. It was great fun to have such a friendly understanding with this very charming young man. She wondered how she had quite—dared. Things seemed so different under this blaze of light. Had she really promised to be a "little sister" to this most distinguished gentleman?
They had come over in Bobbie's motor boat, and just before they reached the club-house pier, Justin had said, "The first dance is mine, you know. I'd like the second and the third, but I suppose that is forbidden. But you must give me all you can. I feel that I have special brotherly privileges."
She danced exquisitely, her little satin-shod feet slipping silently through all the difficult twists and turns of the syncopated modern dances. Justin, guiding her expertly, knew that many glances were being leveled at them, knew that questions were being asked, that Bettina was being weighed in the social balance by the men and women who could make her success secure.
When he gave her over, presently, to another partner he became aware of undercurrents. The girl with whom he danced shrugged her shoulders when he spoke with enthusiasm of Bettina's beauty.