Blanche laughed. “One would have been enough,” she said; but the curve of her lip quivered. She stopped his reply with a second question.
“Who ran away as I came out?” she asked, settling in her saddle.
“Blair Hemming.” He looked at her sharply, but she showed no consciousness; only a smile, as though Hemming were something funny.
“Did you have an amusing time last night?” he asked her.
Some vague reminder of Lillian Gueste’s voice startled her. The color deepened in her cheeks. “Oh, lovely! Hemming”—she never gave a title to a name—“took me to the Castras’.”
“Did he get you the invitation?”
She looked at him in surprise.
“I didn’t ask him for it. He offered it.”
“But you took it?”
“Why not? Everyone does it.”