It was his habitat, his distinctly, from the pronounced but meaningless intricacy of the architecture to the studied but unconvincing tints, like a man who suddenly starts to speak, but checks himself, realising he has nothing in particular to say.
There were half a dozen people there lounging informally between the living-room on the second floor and Sylvia's apartments in the rear--the residue from a luncheon and Bridge party given that afternoon by Sylvia to a score or so of card-mad women.

A few of these she had asked to remain for an informal dinner, and a desperate game later--the sort of people she knew well enough to lose to heavily or win from without remorse--Grace Ferrall, Marion Page, Agatha Caithness.

Trusting to the telephone that morning, she had secured the Mortimers and Quarrier, failing three men; and now the party, with Plank as Mortimer's substitute, was complete, all thorough gamesters--sex mattering nothing in the preparation for such a seance.
In Sylvia's boudoir Grace Ferrall and Agatha Caithness sat before the fire; Sylvia, at the mirror of her dresser, was correcting the pallor incident to the unbroken dissipation of a brilliant season; Marion, with her inevitable cigarette, wandered between Sylvia's quarters and the library, where Quarrier and Major Belwether were sitting in low-voiced confab.
Leila, greeted gaily from the boudoir, went in.

Plank entered the library, was mauled effusively by the major, returned Quarrier's firm hand shake, and sat down with an inquiring smile.
"Oh, yes, we're out for blood to-night," tittered Major Belwether, grasping Quarrier's arm humourously and shaking it to emphasise his words--a habit that Quarrier thoroughly disliked.

"Sylvia had a lot of women here playing for the season score, so I suggested she keep the pick of them for dinner, and call in a few choice ones to make a night of it." "It's agreeable to me," said Plank, still looking at Quarrier with the same inquiring expression, which that gentleman presently chose to understand.
"I haven't had a chance to look into that matter," he said carelessly.
"Some day, when you have time to go over it--" "I have time now," said Plank; "there's nothing to go over; there's no reason for any secrecy.