The next morning Larry tried to force his mind to attend strictly to Miss Sherwood's affairs.

But in this effort he was less than fifty per cent effective.

His experience of the night before had been too exciting, too provocative of speculation, too involved with what he frankly recognized to be the major interest of his life, to allow him to apply himself with perfect and unperturbed concentration to the day's routine.

Constantly he was seeing the transformed Maggie in the cerise evening gown with the fan of green plumes--seeing her elaborate setting in her suite at the Grantham--hearing that vaguely familiar but unplaceable voice outside her door--recalling the frenzied effort with which Maggie had so swiftly effected his escape.
This last matter puzzled him greatly.

If she were so angered at him as she had declared, if she so distrusted him, why had she not given him up when she had had him at her mercy?
Could it be that, despite her words, she had an unacknowledged liking for him?
He did not dare let himself believe this.
Again and again he thought of this adventure in whose very middle Maggie now was, and of whose successful issue she had proudly boasted to him.
It was indeed something big, as she had said; that establishment at the Grantham was proof of this.