Long before
the supper was over there had been thrust at her all manner of
proofs that Spenser was again untrue, that he was whirling
madly in one of those cyclonic infatuations which soon wore
him out and left him to return contritely to her. Sperry
admired Susan's manners as displayed in her unruffled
serenity--an admiration which she did not in the least
deserve. She was in fact as deeply interested as she seemed
in his discussion of plays and acting, illustrated by Brent's
latest production. By the time the party broke up, Susan had
in spite of herself collected a formidable array of
incriminating evidence, including the stealing of one of
Constance's jeweled show garters by Spenser under cover of the
tablecloth and a swift kiss in the hall when Constance went
out for a moment and Spenser presently suspended his drunken
praises of himself as a dramatist, and appointed himself a
committee to see what had become of her.
At the door of the restaurant, Spenser said:
"Susan, you and Miss Francklyn take a taxicab. She'll drop
you at our place on her way home. Fitz and Sperry and I want
one more drink."
"Not for me," said Sperry savagely, with a scowl at Constance.
But Fitzalan, whose arm Susan had seen Rod press, remained silent.
"Come on, my dear," cried Miss Francklyn, smiling sweet
insolent treachery into Susan's face.
Susan smiled sweetly back at her.
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