Perhaps it was that he had a conscience, even though he had succeeded in detaching himself from it.
And Stella.

There was something different about her, too.

Constance more than once was on the point of revising her estimate of the little actress.

Was she, after all, wholly mercenary in her attitude toward Warrington?
Was he merely a live spender whom she could not afford to lose?
Or was she merely a beautiful, delicate creature caught in the merciless maelstrom of the life into which she had been thrown?
Did she realize the perilous position this all was placing her in?
They were among the last to leave and Vera and Braden offered to take Constance to her apartment in Braden's car, while Stella contrived prettily to take so much of Warrington's time with the wraps that by the time they were ready to go the manner of the breaking up of the party was as she wanted it.

In her final triumph she could not help just an extra inflection on, "I hope I'll see you again at Vera's soon, my dear." All night, or at least all that was left of it, Constance tried to straighten out the whirl of her thoughts.