tulle about the décolletage had to be adjusted. She rang for Mary to hook the dress, and Basil came and glowered in the doorway.
"You do fidget me so," snapped Teresa.
"Well, why in thunder can't you get ready, on time? You drive me wild!"
"That's right—spoil my evening."
"You spoil mine. I hate to go out with you." Teresa did not reply, but surveyed herself in the mirror. The perception that she was looking extremely well helped to calm her. She put on her gloves deliberately, slipped into her loose white coat, and swept out past Basil, who was blocking up the narrow hall. A cab was waiting for them below, and Teresa half expected that Basil would say something about extravagance; they had had cabs three times this week. But he sat silent in his corner, and she in hers, watching the street lights spin past. The Blackleys lived uptown, and they had a drive of twenty minutes, and they were twenty minutes late. The other guests were assembled in the drawing-room of the tiny house, squeezed in between two taller houses, which Alice Blackley had decorated according to her own æsthetic ideas, and entirely without regard to her husband's. One of Alice's present fads was a sparing allowance of light. The drawing-room was lit only by the fire and a few scattered candles. In the gloom Teresa could hardly make out who were
