Page:Glitter (1926).pdf/188

Both were tremendously touched, sad. And to deny the presence of so weak and feminine an emotion, they took the rest of the stairs in a series of gallops and descended, uproarious, upon the dining room.

Eunice was curled up in a great chair, reading . . . so absorbed in reading that she did not appear to have heard the clamor of the doorbell nor the entrance of Jock. He stood surveying her from across the room. Her head, bent over the book, showed dark hair marcelled in perfect concentric circles from a tiny part, and wisps of it pasted like inverted question: marks on her forehead. Her gown was black lace, so tight in the bodice that the filagree design gave an effect of having been stencilled on the skin. One leg was tucked up under her, and the other, a slyly overt leg in a sheer pinky-black chiffon stocking and a black satin slipper held across the instep with a bow of ribbon, hung toward the floor. "She got that pose," he thought dryly, "from one of the hosiery ads."

He said, "It must be a darn good book."

She glanced up quickly then, simulating astonishment. "Jock! I didn't heah you come in!"

"Didn't you," politely. "I rang three times. But maybe the bell is broken or something." He took the book from her fingers and read the title, "In Defense of Women by H. L. Mencken. Say, how do you like this?"

"All right," replied Eunice. "It's—" she paused uncertainly, and Jock waited. He thought if she would make an intelligent comment on this book, or