The four-legged creature, more graceful, more harmonious in its movements than ever, slid across the floor. Oh, why was he born with a different face?
"What are you reading?"
He looked up, startled. It was Mary. She had broken from the uncomfortable embrace of Mr. Scogan, who had now seized on Jenny for his victim.
"What are you reading?"
"I don't know," said Denis truthfully. He looked at the title page; the book was called The Stock Breeder's Vade Mecum.
"I think you are so sensible to sit and read quietly," said Mary, fixing him with her china eyes. "I don't know why one dances. It's so boring."
Denis made no reply; she exacerbated him. From the arm-chair by the fireplace he heard Priscilla's deep voice.
"Tell me, Mr. Barbecue-Smith—you know all about science, I know—" A deprecating noise came from Mr. Barbecue-Smith's chair. "This Einstein theory. It seems to upset the whole starry universe. It makes me so worried about my horoscopes. You see . . ."
Mary renewed her attack. "Which of the contemporary poets do you like best?"
