“No, don't you say a word, Garry. I'm not going to listen and I won't forgive you no matter what you say.” She had both of his hands now.
“Ah, but you don't know, Miss Corinne. Has Jack told you?”
“Yes, told me everything; that you had a big supper and everybody stamped around the room; that Mr. Morris gave you a ring, or something” (Garry held up his finger, but she wasn't ready to examine it yet), “and that some of the men wanted to celebrate it, and that you went to the club and stayed there goodness knows how long--all night, so Mollie Crane told me. Paul, her brother, was there--and you never thought a word about your promise to me” (this came with a little pout, her chin uplifted, her lips quite near his face), “and we didn't have half men enough and our cotillion was all spoiled. I don't care--we had a lovely time, even if you two men did behave disgracefully. No--I don't want to listen to a thing. I didn't come down to see either of you.” (She had watched them both from her window as they crossed the street.) “What I want to know, Jack, is, who is Miss Felicia Grayson?”
“Why, Mr. Grayson's sister,” burst out Jack--“the old gentleman who came to see me.”
“Yes, that old fellow--the most charming--”
“No, Garry--not that kind of a man at all, but a most delightful old gentleman by the name of Mr. Grayson,” and Jack's eyes flashed. “He told me his sister was coming to town. What do you know about her, Corinne?” He was all excitement: Peter was to send for him when his sister arrived.
“Nothing--that's why I ask you. I've just got a note from her. She says she knew mamma when she lived in Washington, and that her brother has fallen in love with you, and that she won't have another happy moment--or something like that--if you and I don't come to a tea she is giving to a Miss Ruth MacFarlane; and that I am to give her love to mamma, and bring anybody I please with me.”
“When?” asked Jack. He could hardly restrain his joy.
“I think next Saturday--yes, next Saturday,” consulting the letter in her hand.
“Where? At Mr. Grayson's rooms?” cried Jack.
“Yes, at her brother's, she says. Here, Jack--you read it. Some number in East Fifteenth Street--queer place for people to live, isn't it, Garry?--people who want anybody to come to their teas. I've got a dressmaker lives over there somewhere; she's in Fifteenth Street, anyhow, for I always drive there.”