Mrs. Betty’s lips parted over their perfect teeth.
“Mr. Cranston is such an enthusiast that I must not lose him the next waltz. Try the pâté de foie gras, it is excellent,” and she swept out, with a glitter of amusement, on the lawyer’s arm.
They were soon moving in the midst of the music, a score of rustling dresses swinging their colors over the polished floor.
“Poor Mrs. Murchison,” and the lawyer looked curiously into his partner’s face.
“Strange that we should have met her, just then!”
“After our discussion at supper!”
“Yes; she knows nothing.”
“My dear Mrs. Steel, the penny-post carries more poison than the rings of the old Italians.”
“But then we are more civilized in our methods.”
“Possibly. The cruelties of civilization are more refined, of the soul rather than of the body. Shall we reverse?”