The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. ” “It was behind the Place de Vendome, on the other side from the Ritz. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. ’ ‘Will you go back there?’ asked Gerald. Jackson. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. ” “Then you had better ring the bell,” she declared, laughing.
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