They had reached the head of the stairway. Richard stopped and stood looking down. "Anne Warfield?"
"Yes. Surprised to find her teaching. I fancy they've been pretty hard up—grandfather drank, and all that, you know."
"I didn't know." It was now Richard's turn to speak coldly.
"Oh, yes, ran through with all their money. Years ago. Anne's a little queen. Engaged to her once myself, you know. Boy and girl affair, broken off——"
Below them in the hall, Richard could see the women with whom he was to sup. Shining, shimmering figures in silk and satin and tulle. For these, softness and ease of living. And that other one! Oh, the cheap little gown, the braided hair! Before he had known her she had been Jimmie's and now she was Geoffrey's. And he had fatuously thought himself the first.
He threw himself uproariously into the fun which followed. After all, it was good to be with them again, good to hear the familiar talk of people and of things, good to eat and drink and be merry in the fashion of the town, good to have this taste of the old tumultuous life.
He and Eve went home together. Philip's honest face clouded as he saw them off. "Don't run away with her, Brooks," he said, as he leaned in to have a last look at her. "Good-night, little lady."
It was when they were motoring through the park that Eve said, "I am troubled about Pip."
"Why?"