Juliet Bellamy talking like a mechanical piano into Oliver's ear
so that he had to crane his neck to see Elinor at all. What he saw,
however, reassured him a little--for he had always thought Elinor one
of the calmest young persons in the world, and calm young persons do not
generally keep adding spoonfuls of salt abstractedly to their clam-broth
till the mixture tastes like the bottom of the sea.

But even at that it was not till just before tea-time that Oliver
managed to cut her away from the vociferous rest of the house-party that
seemed bent on surrounding them both with the noise and publicity of a
private Coney Island. Peter has expressed a fond desire to motor over
to a little tea-room he knows where you can dance and the others had
received the suggestion with frantic applause. Oliver was just starting
downstairs after changing his shoes, cursing house-party manners in
general and Juliet Bellamy in particular all over his mind when Elinor's
voice came up to him from below.

"No, really, Petey. No, I know it's rude of me but honestly I am _tired_
and if I'm going to feel like anything but limp _tulle_ this evening.
No, I'm _perfectly_ all right, I just want to rest for a little while
and I promise I'll be positively incandescent at dinner. No, Juliet
dear, I wouldn't keep you or anybody else away from Peter's nefarious
projects for the world--"

That was quite enough for Oliver--he tiptoed back and hid in his own
closet--wondering mildly how he was going to explain his presence there
if a search party opened the door. He heard a chorus of voices calling
him from below, first warningly, then impatiently--heard Peter bounce up
the stairs and yell "Ollie! Ollie, you slacker!" into his own room--and
then finally the last motor slurred away and he was able to creep out of
his shell.

He met Elinor on the stairs--looking encouragingly droopy, he thought.

"Why Ollie, what's the matter? The pack was howling for you all over the
house--they've all gone over to the Sharley--look, I'll get you a car--"
She went down a couple of steps toward the telephone.

Oliver immediately and without much difficulty put on his best
expression of blight.

"Sorry, El--must have dropped off to sleep," he said unblushingly.
"Lay down on my bed to sort of think some things over--and that's what
happens of course. But don't bother--"

"It's no trouble. I could take you over myself but I was so sort of
fagged out--that's why I didn'