“Well, he does a good job. He knows what’s right for you.” St. Peter continued to look her up and down with satisfaction. “And Kathleen is getting new furs. You were advising her?”
“She didn’t mention it to me,” Rosamond replied in a guarded voice.
“No? And what do you call this, what beast?” he asked ingenuously, again stroking the fur with his bare hand.
“It’s taupe .”
“Oh, moleskin!” He drew back a little. “Couldn’t be better for your complexion. And is it warm?”
“Very warm—and so light.”
“I see, I see!” He took Rosamond’s arm and escorted her to her car. “Give Louie my compliments on his choice.”
The motor glided away—he wished he could escape as quickly and noiselessly, for he was a coward. But he had a feeling that Kathleen was watching him from behind the sash curtains.
He went up to the door and made a long and thorough use of the foot-scraper before he tapped on the glass. Kathleen let him in. She was very pale; even her lips, which were always pink, like the inside of a white shell, were without colour. Neither of them mentioned the just-departed guest.
“Have you been out in the park, Kitty? This is a pretty little storm. Perhaps you’ll walk over to the old house with me presently.”
He talked soothingly while he took off his coat and rubbers. “And now for the furs!”