"You knew then?" she whispered in wonder.
"I can't say that I knew that she was going to be married so soon," he replied evasively. "As a matter of fact, I didn't have De Foe in mind at all."
Men and women, laughing, were approaching through the next room.
"Do I know them?" he asked, nervously adjusting his monocle.
She named a dozen people quickly. He nodded his head after each name. They were old friends, all of them.
"He's from Pittsburg," she said, looking away.
He studied the back of her head for a moment. "Oh, I see," he said, with a dry laugh.
She faced him. "You are very much mistaken," she said.
Bellows threw back the curtains and a group of very lively persons came crowding into the room.
"Hello, Buzzy!" shouted three or four of the men. They had dined beautifully. For that matter, so had the ladies. They surrounded him and assaulted him verbally. You could have heard them laugh as far down as 35th Street, if you had been there. (Of course you were not, it being such a wretched night.)
Bosworth grinned amiably under the volley of chaff they fired at him. He observed that Miss Downing effaced herself. She retired alone to the group of dummies. He was not long in wishing that he could be with her in that region of peace and rectitude.
"Where's the groom?" he managed to ask, after ten or twelve voices had expended themselves in levity--not any of which appealed to his stricken bump of humor.
"De Foe? He's changing," said one of the men. "They're leaving for Boston to-night."
"Say, Buzzy, what do you think of the waxies?" cried another. "Have you seen 'em yet?"
"Think I'm blind, Stockton? Good evening, Mrs. Runway. How do, Mrs. Clover."
"I'm surprised you weren't asked, Buzzy," said Mrs. Runway, a blondish lady with black eyes and rather darkish skin. "You were such pals."
"Where's your father, Buzzy?" shouted some one.
"He was announced half an hour ago," said another. They all roared. Bosworth flushed painfully. There was a strange, new resentment in his heart.
"He's changing," he announced coldly, and left them to wonder what he meant by the remark.
Mr. Stockton volunteered: "Changing what? His spots or his mind?"
But Bosworth had turned toward the young lady who had effaced herself. Somehow he rather rejoiced in the fact that she had forsaken this group for another and less objectionable one. Mrs. Runway intercepted him.