But Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire seemed to take a quenchless delight in embarrassing her victim, and sometime later Lorelei heard her explain to the man on her right: 

“We weren’t surprised in the least. ...  Bob’s always doing some crazy thing when he’s drunk. ...  His latest fancy ... pretty, of course, but ... from some Western village, I believe ... can’t possibly last.  Why should it?” The words were purposely made audible, and during the rest of the meal, when Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire was not bitingly sarcastic to Lorelei, she was offensively patronizing.

Bert Hayman, it transpired, was not only an authority on musical comedies and pony ballets, but he was equally well posted on dogs, and a debutante across the table appealed to him for advice in breeding an Airedale bitch she had purchased at the last show.  The discussion that followed was sufficiently frank to embarrass the aristocratic Airedale herself had she been present, but it did not appear to shock the diners.

Mrs. Madden, a neighbor, who was a leader in the polo set, dropped in for coffee and a cigarette.  Lorelei was surprised to see her clad in a well-fitting man’s dinner-suit.  Mrs. Madden’s hair was tightly drawn back, with a neat part on the left side; she smoked extra large cigarettes, from a man’s jeweled case; her voice was coarse, her mannerisms distinctly masculine.  Nor was this eccentricity a passing whim; she masqueraded thus—­so Hayman affirmed—­whenever she dared, and had once attempted to attend a horse-show in trousers.

After dinner Lorelei had a better opportunity than during the afternoon of becoming acquainted with the women of the party, but the experience was not pleasant.  Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire had struck a popular note by patronizing her, and the other women followed suit.  Lorelei amused and interested them in a casual way, but she was made to understand that they regarded her not as Bob’s wife in any real sense, but rather as his latest and most fleeting fancy.  His marriage they seemed to look upon as a bizarre adventure, such as might happen to any man in their set who was looking for amusement.

There was more dancing during the evening.  Miss Wyeth continued to monopolize Bob, and Lorelei was offended to note that his resistance gave signs of weakening.  She smothered her feelings, however, and remonstrated gently, only to find that he was in no condition to listen.  The dinner had been too much for him.

There were many gaieties to enliven the party, and, although outward decencies were observed after a fashion, Lorelei was sickened by the sheer license that she felt on every hand.  Unable to endure the growing heat of Hayman’s advances, she slipped away at last and hid herself in another room, only to overhear a quarrel between Alice Wyeth and Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire, the fierceness of which was only equaled by its absurdity.  Lorelei stole out of the room again with ears burning; her dislike of the muscular widow had turned to loathing, and she was glad to return to the lights and laughter.  She had a wild desire to make her excuses and escape from Fennellcourt, but Bob had disappeared, and she gathered that he and Bert were playing off some fabulous wager in the billiard-room.  Pleading a headache, she excused herself as soon as she could.