Presently my hostess took me back to the mannequin in black whom I new realized must be wearing a copy of one of the famous man-dressmaker’s latest creations.
“Mr. Yelverton wants a partner, Marigold,” my companion exclaimed gayly, whereupon her friend smiled and rising at once, joined me in a fox-trot with an expression of pleasure upon her face. She was a splendid dancer.
“Mrs. Powell has told me of your acquaintance with Mr. Audley,” I said, after a few minutes of the usual ball-room chat. “I wonder if it is the same man I know. He used to live in Half Moon Street.”
She clearly resented the question. “Why do you ask?” she demanded.
“Because I’ve lost sight of my friend of late,” I replied.
“Well, Mr. Audley did live in Half Moon Street, but he has gone away,” she replied. And I thought I detected a hint of tragedy upon her face.
CHAPTER VII
IN THE WEB
As we danced Marigold told me something more about herself. She lived, I found, with three other business girls at a boarding house in Bayswater, going by tube to Dover Street each day. She had met Audley and for a time they had been rather friendly, seeing a good deal of each other. I guessed, though of course she did not tell me, that the friendship bade fair to ripen into something deeper. Then Audley had suddenly disappeared.
As our dance ended Mrs. Powell came up and we all went up the narrow wooden staircase to the balcony where, as we enjoyed our Bohemian supper, we could watch the dancing below.
It was just before midnight, when the fun was fast and furious and the “Hamyardians,” as the merry circle call themselves, were enjoying themselves in the wildest and most nonsensical fashion, that Marigold Day, glancing at her wrist watch, declared that she must go. I went down with her to the door.