"Not by a jugful!... But what's the matter with you this morning, young
woman? You're looking less like a new penny and more like one that has
been too much in circulation."
"Thanks!" Penny retorted sarcastically; then she grinned wryly. "You are
right, as a matter of fact. I was up too late last night--bridge at the
Mileses'."
"_Bridge!_" Dundee ejaculated incredulously. "So the bridge party _did_
take place, in spite of the society editor's discreet announcement
yesterday that 'owing to the tragic death of Mrs. Selim, the regular
every-other-Wednesday dinner-bridge of the Forsyte Alumnae Association
will not be held this evening at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Tracey Miles,
as scheduled'."
"It wasn't a 'dinner-bridge' and it really wasn't intended to be a
party," Penny corrected him. "It just sort of happened, and of all the
ghastly evenings--"
"Tell me about it," Dundee suggested. "Knowing this town's telephone
service as I do, I'll have plenty of time to listen, and you don't know
how all-agog I am for inside gossip on Hamilton's upper crust."
"Idiot!" Penny flung at him scornfully. "You know society would bore you
to death, but I don't think you would have been exactly bored last
night, knowing, as I do, your opinion of Dexter Sprague.
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