Art is the most exhausting thing that is. But I don't know
a great deal about it; other people, who act rather badly, can explain
so fully."
From where Lee sat he could see Cytherea; the unsteady light fell on
the gilt headdress, the black hair and the pale disturbing smile. She
seemed to have paused in a slow graceful walk, waiting, with that
wisdom at once satirical and tender, for him. Together, slowly,
deliberately, they would move away from the known, the commonplace, the
bound, into the unknown--dark gardens and white marble and the murmur
of an ultramarine sea. He was rudely disturbed by the entrance of
Anette and Peyton Morris. "We're so sorry," Anette said in an
exaggerated air of apology; "come on away, Peyton." But the latter told
Lee that Fanny was looking for him. "We are ready to go over to the
Club; it's ten minutes past eight."
Mina Raff gazed up at the doll. "I have an idea the devil made you,"
she declared.
"You are to go with us, Mina," Peyton told her; "if you will get your
cloak--" The two women left, and Morris demanded:
"What was that damned rot about the doll?"
"Miss Raff wanted it."
"Well, why not?"
Lee Randon turned away coldly. "Little girls can't have everything they
put their eyes on." Morris muttered, and Lee asked, "What's that?" The
other failed to reply, but his remark had sounded remarkably like, "She
can.
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