Wilson recalled herself to his attention by saying in his ear:--
"It is such a pity Berenice Morison isn't here. Have you seen her since
the Mardi Gras ball?"
"Yes," he answered, turning quickly, and vexed to feel himself flush.
"I saw her yesterday at the consecration."
"Did you go? How immoral! I stayed at home and gave a luncheon for
Marion Delegass."
"So I heard; but everybody hadn't such a moral thing as that to do."
"Oh, no; very likely not. By the way, you have never apologized for
deserting me in the middle of the service that night."
"I had to take care of that girl. She fainted."
"Oh, you did? Who was she? What did you do with her? However, I don't
care. It's none of my business. I wonder, though, what sort of a story
you'd have told Berenice if she'd been there."
Wynne was too confused to answer this sally, although he wanted to say
something about the cruelty of taking him into the ball-room. His
confusion increased Mrs. Wilson's amusement.
"I think I should like to be in at the death," she said. "She is coming
down to stay with me next week. Come down and make love to her.
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