er
mussed cambric ruffles, heelless nonchalants, and her hair elaborately
dressed with roses, white ribbons and a short ostrich feather. Her body,
at once slim and full, was consciously seductive, and her face, slightly
swollen and pasty in the shadows, bore the same, heedless unrestraint.
Her dark, widely-opened eyes, an insignificant nose and shortly curved,
scarlet lips, held almost the fixed, painted impudence of a cynically
debased doll. She turned and surveyed Jasper Penny with a petulant,
silent inquiry, and whatever gaiety was in progress abruptly terminated
as he advanced into the room.

"You never let me know you'd be here," Essie complained; "but I suppose
I ought to be glad to see you anyway--after four months without a line.
Jasper, Mr. Daniel Culser." The younger of the men on the sofa, a
stolidly handsome individual with hard, blue eyes, rose with an
over-emphasized composure. "Mr. Penny, extremely pleased." Jasper Penny
was irritated by the other's instant identification, and he nodded
bluntly. "Lambert Babb and Myrtilla Lewis," Essie continued
indifferently. Babb, an individual of inscrutable age, with ashen
whiskers and a blinking, weak vision in a silvery face, was audibly
delighted. Myrtilla Lewis smiled professionally over her expanse of
bewildering silk plaid. "Wine in the cooler," Essie added, and Daniel
Culser moved to where a silver bucket reposed by a tray of glasses and
broken, sugared rusks. Jasper Penny refused the offered drink, and found
a chair apart from the others. A moody silence enveloped him which he
found impossible to break, and an increasing uneasiness spread over the
room.

"Well," Essie Scofield commanded, "say something. You look as black as
an Egyptian. What'll my friends think of you? I suppose it doesn't
matter any more what it is to me; but you might play at being polite."

"Don't chip at a man like that," Myrtilla advised. "Mr. Penny has a
right to talk or not." She smiled more warmly at him, and he saw that
she had had too much champagne. The room reeked with the thin, acrid
odour of the wine, and a sickly perfume of vanilla essence. Essie, as
usual, had a glass of her favourite drink--orange juice and French
brandy--on the floor beside her, the brandy bottle and fresh oranges
conveniently near. His repulsion for her deepened until it seemed as if
actual fingers were compressing his throat, stopping his breath. He
wondered suddenly how far he was responsible for her po