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Page 63
She stopped in an uptown branch of her brokers in one of the hotels.
The market was very quiet, and even the Rubber Syndicate seemed to
be marking time. As she went out she passed the telephone booths.
Should she call up Warrington? Would he misinterpret it? What if he
did? She was mistress of her own tongue. She need not say too much.
Besides, if she were going on a fishing expedition, a telephone line
was as good as any other--better than a visit.
"This is Mrs. Dunlap," she said directly.
"Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Dunlap. I have been intending to call you
up, but," he paused, and added, "you know we are having a pretty
strenuous time down here."
There was a genuine ring to the first part of his reply. But the
rest of it trailed off into the old blase tone.
"I'm sorry," she replied. "I enjoyed last night so much."
"Did you?" came back eagerly.
Before he could add anything she asked, "I suppose you are going to
see Stella again this afternoon."
"Why--er--yes," he hesitated. "I think so."
"Where? At Vera's?" she asked, adopting a tone not of curiosity but
of chiding him for seeing Stella instead of herself.
The moment of hesitation, before he said that he didn't know, told
her the truth. It was as good as a plain, "Yes."
For a few moments they chatted. As she hung up the receiver after
his deferential goodbye, Constance knew that she had gained a new
angle from which to observe Warrington's character. He was intensely
human and he was "in wrong." Here was a mess, all around.
The day wore on, yet brought no indecision as to what she would do,
though it brought no solution as to how to do it. The inaction was
worse than anything else. The last quotations had come in over the
ticker, showing the Syndicate stocks still unchanged. She left her
brokers and sat for a few moments in the rotunda of the hotel,
considering. She could stand it no longer. Whatever happened, she
would run around to Charmant's. Some excuse would occur when she got
there.
As Constance alighted from the private elevator, a delicate scent as
of attar of roses smote lightly on her, and there was, if anything,
a greater air of exotic warmth about the place. Everything, from the
electric bulbs buried deep in the clusters of amber artificial
flowers to the bright green leaves on the dainty trellises, the
little square-paned windows and white furniture, bespoke luxury.
There was an inviting "tone" to it all.
"I'm glad I've found you," began Constance to Stella, as though
nothing had happened. "There is something I'd like to say to you
besides thanking you most kindly for the good time last--"
"Is there anything I can do for you?" interrupted Madame Charmant in
a business like tone. "I am sure that Miss Larue invited you last
night because she thought you were lonely. She and Mr. Warrington,
you know, are old friends."
Charmant emphasized the remark to mean, "You trespassed on forbidden
ground, if you thought you could get him away."
Constance seemed not to notice the implication.
"There is something I'd like to say," she repeated gently.
She picked up a little inking pad which lay on a mahogany secretary
which Vera used as an office desk.
"If you will be so kind, Stella, as to place your fingers flat on
this pad-never mind about the ink; call Floretta; she will wipe them
off afterwards-and then on this piece of paper, I won't bother you
further."
Almost before she knew it, the little actress had placed her dainty
white hand on the pad and then on the paper.
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