hind the others. "I want to talk to you, Neale," she said.
"Stay here, then, and I'll come back—" he went down the length of the room with his guests, and returned presently to say, "Louis is taking your mother to the hotel. I told them I would bring you on in a moment."
Sally having met her lover midway in the big room, sat down in the alcove in which hung the Chinese painting of which Bob Gresham had spoken. It was of a woman with a long white face. The whiteness of her face, and the blueness of some butterflies which fluttered about her were the only high lights. The background was dull and drab, but the whole effect was beautiful.
Opposite the painting was a king's chair which stood on a dais. Sally sat down in it, and her scarlet hat blazed against its purple. Winslow sat on the steps of the dais.
Sally, looking down at him, said, "Neale, I want to go to Paris with the rest of them."
"With the rest of them? What do you mean, Sally?"
"Haven't you heard? Louis and Anne and Hildegarde are planning it for the summer."
He considered it. "It isn't a bad idea. A couple of months on the other side. You could get some of your pretty things in the Paris shops."
"Yes. But Neale—I want to stay longer than a couple of months."
His face did not change. "How long?"
"Until fall."
