“The sapphires?” Mrs. Laramore sat down on the couch. Her evening wrap slipped back, showing her white neck. Her fair hair was swept up from her forehead. She had a long face, with pink cheeks and pencilled eyebrows. She was like a portrait on porcelain, and she knew it, and emphasized the effect. “The sapphires? Yes. They’re the choice of the lot.”
She went on to speak of Eloise. “She is simply hopeless. She has told the most hectic tales and all the papers have sent men out to the Inn.”
“Well, they escaped. They started early and have been hung up at Alexandria.”
“Eloise and Benny and the Captain dined with me. She was still telephoning when I left. I told her that I did not sanction it, and that I should come straight over and tell you. But she laughed and said she didn’t care. That she thought it was great fun and that you were a good sport.”
“I shan’t see her,” shortly; “she ought to know better. Setting reporters on Edith like a pack of wolves.”
“I told her how you would feel,” Adelaide reiterated.
“I should see her if I were you, Mr. Towne,” said a crisp, young voice.
Adelaide turned with a gasp. With her slippered feet crossed in front of her, Jane looked like a child. For the first time Mrs. Laramore got a good view of those candid gray eyes. They had a queer effect on her. Eyes like that were most uncommon. Fearless. The girl was not afraid of Frederick. She was not afraid of anyone.
“Why should I see her?” Frederick demanded.
“Won’t it just add to her sense of melodrama if you don’t? And why should you care? Your niece is coming home. And that’s the end of it.”