CHAPTER XVII
GLITTER AND TINSEL
Clarence Sidwell—Chad, his friends called him—leaned farther back in the big wicker chair, with an involuntary motion adjusted his well-creased trousers so there might be no tension at the knees, and looked across the tiny separating table at his vis-a-vis, while his eyelids whimsically tightened.
"Well," he queried, "what do you think of it?"
The little brunette, his companion, roused herself almost with a start, while a suggestion of conscious red tinged her face. "I beg your pardon?" she said, inquiringly.
The man smiled. "Forgotten already, wasn't I?" he bantered.
"No, certainly not. I—"
A hand, delicate and carefully manicured as a woman's, was raised in protest. "Don't prevaricate, please. The occasion isn't worth it." The hand returned to the chair-arm with a play of light upon the solitaire it bore. The smile broadened. "You were caught. Confess, and the sentence will be lighter."
As a wave recedes, the red flood began to ebb from the girl's face. "I confess, then. I was—thinking."