Henry's office must be across the
street and just around the corner, and it occurred to her immediately
that she might slip over for a moment and surprise him, float in on
him, a shimmering marvel in her new crimson opera cloak and "cheer him
up." It was exactly the sort of thing Edith revelled in doing--an
unconventional, jaunty thing. The idea reached out and gripped at her
imagination--after an instant's hesitation she had decided.
"My hair is just about to tumble entirely down," she said pleasantly
to her partner; "would you mind if I go and fix it?"
"Not at all."
"You're a peach."
A few minutes later, wrapped in her crimson opera cloak, she flitted
down a side-stairs, her cheeks glowing with excitement at her little
adventure. She ran by a couple who stood at the door--a weak-chinned
waiter and an over-rouged young lady, in hot dispute--and opening the
outer door stepped into the warm May night.
VII
The over-rouged young lady followed her with a brief, bitter
glance--then turned again to the weak-chinned waiter and took up her
argument.
"You better go up and tell him I'm here," she said defiantly, "or I'll
go up myself."
"No, you don't!" said George sternly.
The girl smiled sardonically.
"Oh, I don't, don't I? Well, let me tell you I know more college
fellas and more of 'em know me, and are glad to take me out on a
party, than you ever saw in your whole life.
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