Stephanie had called on Cowperwood at his office about four to say that instead of staying down-town with him, as they had casually planned, she was going to her home on the West Side to attend a garden-party of some kind at Georgia Timberlake's.

Cowperwood looked at her with--for him--a morbid eye.
He was all cheer, geniality, pleasant badinage; but he was thinking all the while what a shameless enigma she was, how well she played her part, what a fool she must take him to be.

He gave her youth, her passion, her attractiveness, her natural promiscuity of soul due credit; but he could not forgive her for not loving him perfectly, as had so many others.

She had on a summery black-and-white frock and a fetching brown Leghorn hat, which, with a rich-red poppy ornamenting a flare over her left ear and a peculiar ruching of white-and-black silk about the crown, made her seem strangely young, debonair, a study in Hebraic and American origins.
"Going to have a nice time, are you ?" he asked, genially, politically, eying her in his enigmatic and inscrutable way.

"Going to shine among that charming company you keep! I suppose all the standbys will be there--Bliss Bridge, Mr.Knowles, Mr.Cross--dancing attendance on you ?" He failed to mention Mr.Gurney.
Stephanie nodded cheerfully.