"They do say, Buzzy, that you were in love with her," she said. "Are you dreadfully cut up about it?"
He stared past her. "Not at all," he announced. "Far from it. Nothing would have afforded me greater pleasure than the privilege of giving the bride away."
"Dear me," she said, as he smiled and walked on. Struck by a sudden impulse he turned to her.
"Who is Miss Downing? Where have I seen her before?"
"How should I know?" said Mrs. Runway, stiffly.
"Oh," he said, turning again. A strange young man, very much the worse for champagne, had now approached the girl, his hands in his pockets, a vacuous smile on his flushed face. Bosworth changed his course and engaged young Mrs. Chanier in conversation, all the while keeping his eye on the girl down the room.
"Terrible night, isn't it, Blanche?" he observed by way of reserving her attention, which seemed inclined to wander.
"Ripping," she said. "Everything went off beautifully. Only one hitch, my dear. I say, who's the girl talking to Tommy Rexford?" She used her lorgnette.
"I was just about to ask who the chap is talking to her. She's a Miss Downing."
"Oh, yes," he prevaricated nobly, catching an ugly gleam in the young matron's eye. "She's a terribly nice girl."
She stared at him. "Oh, he's all right, Mr. Buzzy Van Pycke," she said, resenting his ignorance. "Tommy Rexford is one of the dearest boys in the world. He's from Pittsburg. I met him at Palm Beach last winter. He comes to New York pretty often. I say, Buzzy, are you listening?"
"Sure," said Buzzy, whose attention had drifted to the girl in the white satin. Plainly, she was being annoyed by the attentions of the intoxicated Mr. Rexford. He appeared to be relating a story which shocked her. "He seems very keen about Miss Downing," he volunteered, a queer bitterness in his heart.
Mrs. Chanier bridled. "What? Why, he's been drinking a little too much, that's all." Her tone was nasty. Bosworth was not slow to grasp the true state of affairs.
She smiled serenely. "Oh, he's still got his locomotor ataxia, if that's what you mean."
Miss Downing abruptly left Mr. Rexford, who, looking after her for a moment as if dazed, allowed himself a short laugh of derision. Young Mr. Van Pycke's foot itched with the desire to kick young Mr. Rexford.