She was conscious that her tone was hard-lipped, playing up to her costume.
"Every night? Is it possible that you come here every night, in this kind of a place, and play?... Good God! No wonder...."
His eyes swept her again. She dropped her glance.
"No wonder you can dress yourself in this fashion!" was what she knew he meant to imply. She threw back her head defiantly.
"You're mistaken," she said, coldly. "These people are very good to me. As for playing the piano.... well, I've done that before. Only, then I was exhibited on a raised platform!"
She knew that every word was wounding him, and yet she could not alter her mood. She was heart-sick, and defiant, and bitter.
"And do you think that all this is quite fair to ... to your friends?"
"I have to earn my living, don't I?"
He brushed a cigarette stub off the table. "Last month I made a fortune. I cleaned up something over a million dollars. And still I must sit here and watch ... watch these Greeks fling money in your face!"
He swept the room with an angry gesture. Claire followed the swift flight of his hand. One of the entertainers had finished singing and the usual shower of coins was falling on the hard floor. His lips were quivering with indignation.