The rope, however, being apparently made absolutely secure, it
was not long before the dancing began again. Feather's mourning,
wonderfully shading itself from month to month, was the joy of all
beholders. Madame Helene treated her as a star gleaming through
gradually dispersing clouds. Her circle watched her with secretly
humorous interest as each fine veil of dimness was withdrawn.
"The things she wears are priceless," was said amiably in her own
drawing-room. "Where does she get them? Figure to yourself Lawdor
paying the bills."
"She gets them from Helene," said a long thin young man with
a rather good-looking narrow face and dark eyes, peering through
pince nez, "But I couldn't."
In places where entertainment as a means of existence proceed so
to speak, fast and furiously, questions of taste are not dwelt
upon at leisure. You need not hesitate before saying anything you
liked in any one's drawing-room so long as it was amusing enough
to make somebody--if not everybody--laugh. Feather had made people
laugh in the same fashion in the past. The persons she most admired
were always making sly little impudent comments and suggestions,
and the thwarted years on the island of Jersey had, in her case,
resulted in an almost hectic desire to keep pace. Her efforts had
usually been successes because Nature's self had provided her with
the manner of a silly pretty child who did not know how far she
went.
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