All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. “Just seems like a nice place to get away to, especially since it seems to attract pretty girls. Before I sit down, I have a toast to propose, which I am sure will be received, as it deserves to be, with enthusiasm. He was not quite sure whether, after all, he had been wise.
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