"It seems natural to him that he should always come first, and—and have the pick of things."
"You mean he's spoilt? According to his father, that makes him more attractive."
"Yes, I'm not saying it doesn't do that. Only—do you never mind it? Never mind playing second fiddle?"
"Second fiddle seems rather a high position. I hardly reckon myself in the orchestra at all," he laughed. "You remember—I'm accustomed to following the hunt on foot."
"While Harry Belfield rides! Yes! Vivien rides too—and doesn't like it!"
She was bending forward in her chair, handsome, sumptuous in her white and gold (Wellgood had made her a present the quarter-day before), with her smile very bitter. The smile told that she spoke with a meaning more than literal. Andy surveyed, at his leisure, possible metaphorical bearings.
"Oh yes, I think I see," he announced, after an interval fully perceptible. "You mean she doesn't really appreciate her advantages? By riding you mean—?"
"Oh, really, Mr. Hayes!" She broke into vexed amused laughter. "I mustn't try it any more with you," she declared.
"But I shall understand if you give me time to think it over," Andy protested. "Don't rush me, that's all, Miss Vintry."
"As if I could rush any one or anything!" she said, handsome still, now handsomely despairing.