"But, Myra——"
"Promise."
"I won't, then. But——"
"I see Walter Mason and Martigues waiting for us," she said quickly. "Remember, not a word." She was out of the cab, hurrying forward to greet her guests. Oliver followed, his eyes mutely pleading. But she seemed her old self again, graciously animated, laughing at Martigues, who sulked because he did not like the way her hair was done.
Soon other guests arrived, and still others, all of them primed with compliments carefully prepared.
Last of all came David Cannon, who brushed away flattery with curt gestures and grunts. He sat heavily down in a corner of the room, a plate of cheese sandwiches and a frosted glass of beer before him, and turned an unsociable eye on all intruders. Myra, knowing his mood, left him alone.
"You are different to-night," Martigues whispered to her. "There is something I do not understand. You have the Madonna smile."
"I am happy," she said, and her eyes turned to Oliver, who held the look and gave it back with deeper meaning.
When later Martigues asked her to sing, she glanced again at Oliver, who nodded and smiled.
"If David will accompany me," she said then. David left sandwiches and beer but without enthusiasm. He crossed over to the piano, and peered up at her with a kind of sombre malice.