“Topper took them up to my room. Geoff just gave me permission to sit with Eustace for a few minutes.” “Splendid. Go right up.” She took one look at Polly and then made for the stair herself. “I’m going to lie down,” she announced in a high clear voice. “Awfully tired. Don’t sleep well. Amuse yourself, Polly.” “Gita!” Gita paused on the landing and clutched the banister. A show-down? Well—surely Polly must see there was no excuse for her to stay longer. “Yes?” “Oh, nothing.” Polly swung on her heel. An explosion, and she would have to go. She had no intention of going. Gita ran up to her room and locked herself in. She had never felt less tired. Nor did she want to think. She could always lose herself in a good novel, and she had a new one. But half an hour later she slipped out of the house and tramped until it was time to dress for dinner. CHAPTER XXIII The dinner was almost gay. Each had her part to play and each was too clever to play it self-consciously. By common consent both Bylant and Pelham were ignored, and they talked of the past winter in New York, the summer distractions planned in Chelsea (in which Elsie promised Polly to take part if only for the sake of copy), and the new spring novels. The last subject afforded an opportunity to quarrel, which gave them a welcome release. “I feel like a movie,” announced Polly, as they left the dining-room. “Come along, girls. We can all crowd into my car.” “I can’t go, of course.” Gita bit her lip. “Must do the decent thing. What time do you suppose you’ll be back?” “Round ten, probably.” “I don’t think you should drive on lonely roads at night.” “Nothing very lonely between here and Atlantic City, after we get out of that avenue of yours. But if you don’t want to stay alone—there’s always mah-jongg——” “I detest mah-jongg. Run along. I’ll be all right.” She shrugged her shoulders as the two girls ran upstairs to put on their things. She could hear the car, anyway. Easy enough to hide behind those thickly planted trees in the avenue. “I’ll stop at the house and ask Geoff to go with us,” said Elsie, as the young gardener brought Polly’s roadster to the door. “Then he can take us to one of the hotels for supper. Polly says she feels like making a night of it.” “Good idea,” said Gita coolly, and wondered what excuse Pelham would make. She tapped softly on the door of the sick-room. The nurse whispered that her patient was sleeping soundly, for the first time without an opiate. That duty done she sat down firmly with her novel; but after she had read one page four times wondered why anybody wasted time on fiction, and flung the really notable effort into a corner. She resolved not to think and promptly began thinking. Fine performance for her—sneaking out at night to meet a man and indulge in a semi-romantic episode on the salt marshes. They’d probably freeze. Better wear her fur coat. Look like a bear on its hind legs.