Before the deliberate and superior mockery in her eyes as well as in her voice, Keith felt somehow like a small boy. He was stung to a momentary astonishing fury. "By God--" he began, and checked himself with difficulty. She smiled at him slowly. "Perhaps I didn't mean all of that," she said; "perhaps only half of it," she added with significance. "My personal opinion is that you are likely to be a curly haired little devil; and when you look at me like that, I'm glad we're not alone." She looked at him an enigmatic moment, then turned away from the table near which they had been standing. "Come, help me break up some of this 'twosing,'" she said. Shortly after this the party dispersed. Mrs. Morrell said good-bye to them carelessly, or not at all, according as it happened. "You must come again, come often," she told the Keiths. "It's pretty dull unless you make your own fun." She was half sleepily conventional, her lids heavy. "Perhaps we can have some music soon," she added. The words were careless, but she shot Keith an especial gleam. The Keiths walked sociably home together, almost in silence. Keith, after his habit, super-excited with all the fun, the row, and the half-guilty boyish feeling of having done a little something he ought not to have done, did not want to seem too enthusiastic. "Jolly crowd," he remarked. "They were certainly noisy enough," said Nan indifferently; then after a moment, "Where _do_ you suppose some of them get their clothes?" Keith's mind was full of the excitement of the evening. He found himself reviewing the company, appraising it, wondering about it. Was Teeny McFarlane as gay as she appeared? He had never seen women smoke before; but that dark girl with the red thing in her hair puffed a cigarette. Perhaps she was Spanish--he had not met her. And Mrs. Morrell--hanged if he quite dared make her out--it wouldn't do to jump to conclusions nor too hastily to apply Eastern standards; this was a new country, fatal to make a fool mistake; well-built creature, by gad-- Nan interrupted his thoughts. He came to with a start. "I think we'd better put the big armchair in the front room, after all," she was saying. XII Next morning Keith allayed what little uneasiness his conscience might harbour by remarking, as he adjusted his collar: "Mrs. Morrell is an amusing type, don't you think? She's a bit vulgar, but she seems good hearted. Wonder what colour her hair used to be?" "I suppose they are all right," said Nan. "They are a little rowdy. They gave me a headache." Illogically rehabilitated in his own self-esteem, Keith went on dressing. He was "on" to Mrs. Morrell; her methods were pretty obvious. Wonder if she thought she had really fooled him? Next time he would be on guard and beat her at her own game. She was not a woman to his taste, anyway--he glanced admiringly at Nan's clean profile against the light--but she was full of vitality, she was keen, she was brimming with the joy of life.