"Nonsense! Do you think I'm going to let you off without some sort of
confession? If I had time now--but I haven't. Kemp has business letters:
he'll be furious; so I've got to take his cards or we won't have any
pennies to buy gasoline for our adored and shrieking Mercedes."

She retreated backward with a gay nod of malice, turned to enter the
house, and met Sylvia Landis face to face in the hallway.

"You minx!" she whispered; "aren't you ashamed?"

"Very much, dear. What for?" And catching sight of Siward outside in the
starlight, divined perhaps something of her hostess' meaning, for she
laughed uneasily, like a child who winces under a stern eye.

"You don't suppose for a moment," she began, "that I have--"

"Yes I do. You always do."

"Not with that sort of man," she returned naively; "he won't."

Mrs. Ferrall regarded her suspiciously: "You always pick out exactly the
wrong man to play with--"

They had moved back side by side into the hall, the hostess' arm linked
in the arm of the younger girl.

"The wrong man?" repeated Sylvia, instinctively freeing her arm, her
straight brows beginning to bend inward.