“Most certainly I do not,” she said, distinctly, and turned her back.
Cantor looked at Potter and lifted his brows. There was the merest hint of a smile, a sardonic smile. “What’s up?” he asked, under his breath. “See you later, then.”
Potter walked down-stairs in grim silence, his two friends eying him wonderingly, neither caring to speak. The Potter Waite they knew was accustomed in such circumstances to prove unpleasant.
“So long,” O’Mera said, hastily, at the foot of the stairs, and disappeared toward the coat-room.
“Guess I won’t play billiards,” Potter said, slowly, to Watts. There was no other word. He turned abruptly away, and Tom gazed after him, wondering what it was all about. “Huh!” he ejaculated. “What in thunder?”
Up-stairs, Cantor was equally nonplussed. Hildegarde walked to their table, drew back her chair, and was about to sit down. Then she pushed the chair away from her passionately, pushed it so that it fell to the floor noisily.
“I don’t want to eat,” she said. “I’m going home.”
“But, Miss von Essen—”
“I’m going home, and I’m going alone.... I’m going now.”
“What is it? What have I done to offend—”