He looked at her oddly, then he drew himself to his full height and glanced on the crowd around him with a certain arrogant good-humor.
"Now," he drawled, "you children run along and amuse yourselves somewhere else. I've got some business to attend to."
They took their dismissal with laughter, scattering about the terrace. The short October twilight had ended, and out of the darkness cars began to drive up, golf clubs were collected, there was stir and movement. But Kay was aware even then of polite but acutely interested espionage; she could not think, she could not talk.
"Now we've got rid of that bunch of loafers"
"I must go, Tom. I must."
"And is this going to be all of it? How-d'ye-do, good-bye?"
"Be careful, please. They're watching."
"What do I care? What do you care?" He moved impatiently. "All right, I'll go back tonight. That's all I wanted to know."
"I'll come over this evening, Tom. I may be late, but I'll come. You can get your dinner here; I'll arrange about it."
"One of these play-boys has asked me to eat with him. You'll come, will you?"
"Of course."
He was still suspicious. In a way, the sight of Kay in this new environment had not had the effect on him that it had had on Kay to see him transplanted. He had expected something of the sort. But each scene and group at the club had been unconsciously emphasizing the difference between her familiar world and his. Here was not only luxury, but the involved machinery of play, and to utilize it people to whom play was a part of their daily lives, like food or beds to sleep in.
It made him feel inferior, and fiercely resent that inferiority. His pride was in arms, and to do him justice he had seen at once through the curiosity of the crowd.
But after one look at her face his voice softened.
