"She sees to that," came from Oliver, with a humorous inflection.
Frances Maury playfully shuddered.
"Wives have too many duties for me. I shall never marry."
"Don't," said Oliver, and realized his blunder. He glanced quickly at Myra, and was relieved to observe that she did not seem troubled.
It was David, at last, who insisted on going home. Frances obeyed him with a laughing apology.
"You've given me such a good time. I forgot the hour. May I come again?"
"Indeed you must," Myra answered hospitably.
She would not leave, however, until they had promised to come to her concert. She would send them tickets. And they must have tea with her soon. Would they chaperon her once in a while? Oliver eagerly promised to be at her beck and call. He followed her out into the hall, unmindful of David's vile temper.
Myra turned slowly back into the room, noting with jaded eyes the empty beer-bottles, crusts of sandwiches, ashes on the rugs, chairs pulled crazily about. The place still resounded with chatter and song. It no longer seemed her home.
Presently Oliver joined her.