She was ashamed now, and hid her face in her arm.
Charity Coe took pity on her, and before the jealous Charity could
check the generous Charity she had stepped forward and thrown about
the girl's shoulders a light wrap she carried. She led the child to
the other wood-nymphs, and they took her back into the shrubbery.
"Wait till you hear what Miss Silsby's gotta say!" said one dryad,
and another added:
"Woisse than that is this: you know who that was you flang out at
so regardless?"
"I don't know, and I don't care," sobbed Kedzie.
"You would care if you was wise to who His Nibs was!"
"Who was it?" Kedzie gasped.
"Jim Dyckman--no less! You was right in his arms, and you hadda go
an' biff him."
"Oh, Lord!" sighed Kedzie. "I'll never do." She was thinking that
destiny had tossed her into the very arms of the aristocracy and
she had been fool enough to fight her way out.
Jim Dyckman, meanwhile, was clambering into his car with clothes
and ardor dampened. He was swearing to cut out the whole herd of
women.
And Charity Coe Cheever was chattering flippantly with a group of
the dispersing audience, while her heart was in throes of dismay
at her own feelings and Jim Dyckman's.
THE SECOND BOOK
MRS. TOMMIE GILFOYLE HAS HER PICTURE TAKEN
CHAPTER I
The scene was like one of the overcrowded tapestries of the
Middle Ages. At the top was the Noxon palace, majestic, serene,
self-confident in the correctness of its architecture and not
afraid even of the ocean outspread below.
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