"Why, then——" he began; but the girl quickly held up her hand.
"Now, don't be silly, don't!" she pleaded. "We've been foolish enough as it is. People will talk, you know; they'll say that it's the get-rich-quick strain in me that makes me do these ill-bred, extraordinary things. But indeed it is not. My own mother, Mr. Beekman," she went on soberly, "was a charming woman—a lady who would never have associated with some of the people that one meets here, even. It must be the pure deviltry in me that makes me do some things—pure deviltry, I assure you, that's all."
"To lead some impecunious devil to the most exclusive match-making place in America, and then refuse to.... Pure deviltry! I should think——"
Leslie's brow wrinkled.
"But Mrs. Pallet-Searing? What is she going to say?" broke in the girl.
"Say! Say nothing at all, of course. She and Pallet-Searing must have occupied similar cosy-corners, I suppose, years ago," he answered, with a smile.
"I don't quite see the application," returned Leslie, puzzled. "Very likely they had the right: they were engaged, and afterwards married."
"True," said Beekman, his eyes feasting on her. "And I don't understand why history can't repeat itself right here and now. The fact is, your hostess will be disappointed—will be annoyed, I'm sure, at our stupidity, if we do not make the most of our opportunity."
Leslie smiled a glorious smile upon him.
"Mr. Beekman," she whispered softly, "do you think we've been so very stupid?"