She stopped him with a quick gesture. "You know why," she said, simply.
He drew back as if she had dealt him a blow in the face. Claire felt an impulse to rise and flee. Her defiance had spent itself and she was growing weak and tremulous. She glanced about—Lycurgus was coming toward them.
"Ah, Mr. Stillman—thank you! Thank you!" Lycurgus's voice rang out across the table. "I see you are here ... with Miss Robson. Did you see her dress? For me ... she wears this dress just for me to-night, because it is my name-day. She has never worn it before. She is some girl, I can tell you!" Suddenly he bent across the table and, laying his hand upon Claire's cold fingers, he ran his palm the full length of her arm.
She shook him off as she rose. But he continued to smile with wine-heated indulgence. "For me," he repeated again. "She wears this beautiful dress for me only!"
Claire glanced down at Stillman. His face was gray, his hands clenched at his side. Lycurgus moved away.
"Good night," she said to Stillman.
He roused himself. "Then you are going?... Which way?... I have my car here."
"Some other time," she repeated, mechanically. "I am not afraid. I do this every night, you must remember."
He stood up. "I should be very glad indeed, but if you do not...."
"No, I would rather be alone."