"Oh, come, I say, I'm not altogether an outsider!" Arthur protested with a sudden touch of vehemence.
"Oh, no, not that," Marie murmured, with a little shake of her head; her tone did not sound very convinced. Amabel giggled feebly. Joe covered a seeming embarrassment by gulping down his coffee and pretending to find it too hot. A constraint fell upon the party. Arthur wanted to make himself thoroughly one with them in anxiety and concern over Raymond's misdeeds—nay, even in admiration for Sidney Barslow's reformation; he wanted to, if he could. Yet somehow he found no words in which to convey his desire. Every phrase that came into his head he rejected; they all sounded cold and unreal, somehow aloof and even patronising. Silence, however awkward, was better than speeches like that.
It was one of Joe Halliday's chosen missions in life, and one of his greatest gifts, to relieve occasions of restraint and embarrassment by a dexterous use of humour. This social operation he now, perceiving it necessary, proceeded to perform. Clapping his hand to his forehead in a melodramatic manner, he exclaimed in low but intense tones, "Ask me who I want to be! Who I want to be in all the world! Ask me quickly!"
He won his smiles. "What's the matter now, Joe?" asked Arthur; his smile was tolerant.
"No, I'll tell you! Don't speak!" He pointed with his finger, past Arthur, towards the other end of the room. "There he sits! A murrain on him! That's the man! And how dare he lunch with that Entrancing Creature?"
"Which one, Joe? Which one?" asked Amabel, immediately full of interest.
"There—behind Arthur's back. He can't see her. Good thing too! He doesn't deserve to."
"I suppose I can turn round, if I want to—and if she's worth it. Is she, Marie?"
"Is it the one in blue, Joe? Yes, she is. Awfully pretty!"
"Never saw such a corker in my life!" Joe averred with solemnity.