CHAPTER 11I didn’t go back upstairs immediately. I was suffering from an acute attack of the common female malady of pique…or perhaps it should simply be called deflated ego. After Roger had gone, hurt apparently, certainly very angry—and chiefly at me—I wandered about the shabby lovely old drawing room. The blue walls were hung with Candlers—British in red with powdered hair, Colonial in a blue and buff without. I kept seeing bits of Sandy in their dim ageless faces, and in the lovely lady with Titian hair piled high in shining curls, her liquid eyes flecked with gold, her low-cut Empire gown revealing the swelling curves of her bosom, I could see the girl upstairs twenty pounds plumper. It was the curled definitely Mona Lisa smile tucked away in the corner of her ripe mouth that fascinat
