Gail Sargent fairly scintillated with enjoyment. She had never attended so brilliant a house-party. Her own set back home had a lot of fun, but this was in some way different. The people were no more clever, but there were more clever people among them; that was it. There had been a wider range from which to pick, which was why, in New York, there were so many circles, and circles within circles.
Gail was sparkling all the time. There was a constant flash of wit, not of a very high order, to be sure, nor exceptionally brilliant, which latter was its chief charm. Some wit has to be taken so very seriously. There were dashes into the brisk, exhilarating winter air, there were lazy breakfasts, where three or four of the girls grouped in one room, there was endless gaiety and laughter, and, above all, oceans and oceans of flirtation. The men whom Lucile and Arly had collected were an especial joy. They had all the accomplished outward symbols of fervour without any of its oppressive insistence. Gail, as an agreeable duty to her new found self, experimented with several of them, and found them most amusing and pleasant, but nothing more disturbing.
Dick Rodley was the most persistent, and, in spite of the fact that he was so flawlessly handsome as to excite ridicule, Gail found herself, by and by, defending him against her own iconoclastic sense of humour. He reached her after the minstrel show, while Houston Van Ploon and Willis Cunningham were still struggling profanely with their burnt cork, and he stole her from under the very eyes of Jack Lariby, while that smitten youth was exchanging wit, at a tremendous loss, with caustic Arly Fosland.
“Have you seen the new century plant in the conservatory?” Dick asked, beaming down at her, his black eyes glowing like coals.
Gail’s eyelids flashed down for an instant, and the corners of her lips twitched. Young Lariby had only been with her five minutes, but she had felt herself ageing in that time.
“I love them,” she avowed, and glancing backward just once, she tiptoed hastily away with the delighted Dick. That young man had looked deep into the eyes of many women, and at last he was weary of being adored. He led Gail straight to the sequestered corner behind the date palms, but it was occupied by Bobby Chalmers and Flo Reynolds. He strolled with Gail to the seat behind the rose screen, but it was fully engaged, and he led the way out toward the geranium alcove.