Kathleen Severn laughed; she looked scarcely more than twenty-five and she knew it.

“You pretty thing!” exclaimed Geraldine, kissing her, “no wonder you attract the really interesting men and leave me the dreadful fledglings!  It’s bad of you; and I don’t see why I’m stupid enough to have such an attractive woman for my closest”—­a kiss—­“dearest friend!  Even Duane is villain enough to tell me that he finds you overwhelmingly attractive.  Did you know it?”

Geraldine’s careless gaiety seemed spontaneous enough; yet there was the slightest constraint in Kathleen’s responsive smile: 

“Duane isn’t to be taken seriously,” she said.

“Not by any means,” nodded Geraldine, twirling her crop.

“I’m glad you understand him,” observed Kathleen, gazing at the point of her sunshade.  She looked up presently and met Geraldine’s dark gaze.  Again there came that almost imperceptible hesitation; then: 

“I certainly do understand Duane Mallett,” said Geraldine carelessly.

“Shall I wait for you?” asked Kathleen.  “We can lunch out together and drive in the Park later.”

“I’m too lazy even to take off my boots and habit.  Where’s that volume of Mendez you thought fit to hide from me, you wretch?”

“Why on earth did you buy it?”

“I bought it because Rosalie Dysart says Mendez is a great modern master of prose——­”

“And Rosalie is a great modern mistress of pose.  Don’t read Mendez.”

“Isn’t it necessary for a girl to read——­”

“No, it isn’t!”

“I don’t want to be ignorant.  Besides, I’m—­curious to know——­”

“Be decently curious, dearest.  There’s a danger mark; don’t cross it.”

“I don’t wish to.”

She stretched out her arms, crop in hand, doubled them back, and head tipped on one side, yawned shamelessly at her own laziness.

“Scott is becoming very restless,” she said.

“About going away?”

“Yes.  I really do think, Kathleen, that we ought to have some respectable country place to go to.  It would be nice for Scott and the servants and the horses; and you and I need not stay there if it bores us——­”

“Is he still thinking of that Roya-Neh place?  It’s horridly expensive to keep up.  Oh, I knew quite well that Scott would bully you into consenting——­”

“Roya-Neh seems to suit us both,” admitted the girl indifferently.  “The shooting and fishing naturally attract Scott; they say it’s secluded enough for you and me to recuperate in; and if we ever want any guests, it’s big enough to entertain dozens in....  I really don’t care one way or the other; you know I never was very crazy about the country—­and poison ivy, and mosquitoes and oil-smelling roads, and hot nights, and the perfume of fertilisers——­”

“You poor child!” laughed Kathleen; “you don’t know anything about the country except where you’ve been on Long Island in the immediate vicinity of your grandfather’s horrid old place.”