Ever since the coming of Wentworth, whom
she had taken under her special patronage, Hedin had been studiously
omitted from her scheme of social activities--and Jean McNabb had been
as studiously included. He knew that McNabb was leaving town to be
gone until the following evening, and that the chance of his seeing the
garment was exceedingly small, and he had invented the fiction of the
low collar in order to get the coat back on Monday morning when he
would, of course, substitute the baum marten and return the sable to
its safe. But now he felt vaguely uneasy.
Hedin saw that Wentworth was staring at the coat with a swiftly
appraising eye. "It's a baum marten," Jean went on. "It took me a
long time to choose between this and a squirrel. There was one that
was a luscious gray, but I like this better--don't you?"
Wentworth nodded. "I certainly do," he agreed. "And I do not believe
it would have taken me long to decide between that and a squirrel." He
turned to Hedin. "What do you think, Mr.--ah--Haywood? That the
choice was a wise one? This is certainly a handsome--er--what did you
say it is?"
"Baum marten," snapped Hedin, with scarcely a glance at the questioner,
as he turned and began to replace the coats that lay upon the table.
Wentworth watched Hedin return the baum marten to its place, and Jean
stepped swiftly to Hedin's side.
As she spoke, he saw that her eyes were flashing angrily.
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