Claire rose in her seat. "Sit down!" he commanded, thickly. "Sit down, or by God! I'll start something!"
His voice had risen so that the entertainers grouped about the piano heard him. Lycurgus came forward.
"Thank you! Thank you!... What is the matter?"
"This dame here," Flint cried, sweeping a sneering finger in Claire's direction, "she's about as alive as a broiled pork chop. I come in here for a good time and I can't even get her to drink with me. What kind of a dump is this, anyway?"
A swooning fear came over Claire. What if Danilo were suddenly to come in the side door? She looked in the direction of the entertainers. They were smiling broadly. Lycurgus rubbed his hands together and fawned.
"Thank you!... Thank you! What is it, Miss Robson? If the gentleman wants to buy a drink, surely...."
Claire saw Doris, the French Jewess, coming toward them. "Did I hear something about some one wanting to buy a drink?" She turned a wide smile upon Flint. "Here, let me sit down!" she demanded of Claire, who moved away.
Claire walked in the direction of the dressing-room. Lycurgus followed her.
"Miss Robson, thank you! Thank you! You see how it is? You spoil my trade! Everybody else ... they dress gay ... plenty of color! They order drinks. I am your friend, but you can see...."
"Yes, yes," she answered, hurriedly. "I see. It is all my fault. I shall go home now, and not come back."