Eloise, red-haired and vivid in a cloak and turban of wood-brown, seemed to stand mentally on tiptoe. “I wouldn’t miss the talk I am going to have with the reporters to-night.”
One of the men of the party protested. “Don’t be an idiot, Eloise.”
“Well, I owe Edith something. Don’t I, darling?”
“You do.” There was a flame in back of Edith’s eyes. “She liked Delafield before I did.”
“Cat,” said Eloise lightly. “I liked his yacht, but Benny’s is bigger, isn’t it, Benny?” She turned to the younger man of the party who had not spoken.
“I’ll say it is,” Benny agreed, cheerfully, “and it isn’t just my yacht that she’s after. She has a real little case on me.”
The second woman, older than Eloise, tall and fair-haired in smoke-gray with a sweep of dull blue wing across her hat, said, “Edith, you bad child, your uncle has been frightfully worried.”
“Of course, you’d know, Adelaide. And it does him good to be worried. I am an antidote for the rest of you.”
Everybody laughed except Baldy. He ran his fingers with a nervous gesture through his hair. He was like a young eagle with a ruffled crest.
Martha came up to arrange for a table. “Bring your coffee over and sit with us,” Eloise said; “we want to hear all about it.”