"Did you pull in the pot?" asked Tryon, who was a poker player himself.
"No," said Druro regretfully; "hadn't time. I left the game and came away as soon as I remembered this blessed dance."
Just then the waltz came to an end, its last notes trailing off into nothingness and blowing away like a handful of leaves on a breeze. The kaleidoscopic patterns sorted themselves and turned into a circle of perambulating couples, and Gay and her partner passed the two men in the doorway.
"Hi! I want to speak to you," said Druro, whose manners were unique, making an imperious sign at Gay. She looked at him with eyes like frozen violets and walked on. Druro, looking after her, observed that she and her partner passed out of a door leading to the east veranda.
"H'm!" said he, reflective but unperturbed. Then he turned to Tryon.
"Go and get Hayes away from her, Tryon."
"That's a nice job!" commented Tryon.
"Go on, old man!" said Druro, kindly but firmly. "Tell him there's a man in the bar wants to see him on a matter of life and death. He'll thank you for it afterward."
Tryon went grumbling through the ballroom, and Druro stepped back out of the front hall into the street and made a circuit of the hotel. By the time he had reached the east veranda, Tryon was gently leading away the unresisting Hayes, and a rose-leaf shoe, visible between two pots of giant croton, guided the stalker to his prey. He sat down on a seat beside her.
"Did you mean it when you cut me in that brutal manner just now—or was it an accident?" he asked reproachfully.
Gay did not answer or stir. His manner changed.