It was to the girl in red that they gave the most attention.

"How lovely she is," Mary said, "and how sweet."

But Delilah, observing closely, did not agree with her. "I'm not sure.

Some women look like that who are little fiends. You haven't shown me

this before, Colin. Who was she?"

Colin evaded. "Some one I knew a long time ago."

Porter was shaken inwardly by the thought that the little blond artist

was proving himself a gentleman. He would not proclaim to the world

what he had told Porter in confidence.

Porter's instincts, however, were purely primitive. He wanted to shout

to the housetops, "That's the picture of Roger Poole's wife. Look at

her and see how sweet she is. And then decide if she made her own

unhappiness."

But he did not shout. He kept silent and watched Mary. She was still

studying the picture attentively. "I don't see how you can say that

she could be anything but sweet, Delilah. I think it is the face of a

truthful child."

Porter's heart leaped. The time would come when he would tell her that

the picture of the little trustful child was the picture of Roger

Poole's wife. And then---Colin had turned off the lights again. They sat now among the shadows

and drank cool things and ate the marvelous little cakes which were a

specialty of the pastry cook around the corner.

"In a week we'll all be away from here," Delilah said. "I wonder why

we are so foolish. If it weren't for the fact that we've got the

habit, we'd be just as comfortable at home."

"I shall be at home," Mary said. "I'm not entitled yet to a vacation."

"Don't you hate it?" Delilah demanded frankly.

Mary hesitated. "No, I don't. I can't say that I really like it--but

it gave me quite a wonderful feeling to open my first pay envelope."

"Women have gone mad," Porter said. "They are deliberately turning

away from womanly things to make machines of themselves."

Delilah, taking up the cudgels for Mary, demanded, "Is Mary turning her

back on womanly things any more than I? I am making a business of

capturing society--Mary is simply holding down her job until Romance

butts into her life."

Colin stopped her. "I wish you'd put your twentieth century mind on

your mid-Victorian clothes," he said, "and live up to them--in your

language."

Delilah laughed. "Well, I told the truth if I didn't do it elegantly.

We are both working for things which we want. Mary wants Romance and I

want social recognition."




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