but the near-by sound of incessant traffic sent her blood spinning,
and she opened her eyes and gave a little laugh and went out.

Martin was on his way downstairs. He drew up abruptly. "Oh, hello!"
he said.

"Oh, hello!" said Joan.

He was in evening clothes. His face had lost its tan and his eyes
their clear country early-to-bed look. "You've had a tea-fight, I
see. I peered into the drawing-room an hour ago and backed out,
quick."

"Why? They were all consumed with curiosity about you. Alice has
advertised our romantic story, you see." She clasped her hands
together and adopted a pose in caricature of the play heroine in an
ecstasy of egomania.

But Martin's laugh was short and hollow. He wasn't amused. "How did
you get on?" he asked.

"Lost seventy dollars--that's all. Three-handed bridge with
Grandfather and Grandmother was not a good apprenticeship. I must
have a few lessons. D'you like my frock? Come up. You can't see it
from there."

And he came up and looked at her as she turned this way and that.
How slim she was, and alluring! The fire in him flamed up, and his
eyes flickered. "Awful nice!" he said.