“I looked all round the dining room, but I didn’t see you and your daughter.”
Longview smiled proudly. “We have our meals in our sitting room,” he replied. “We dislike being stared at, and mixed in with a crowd of eating people. We like privacy. We’d be glad to have you join us.”
Frothingham’s first impulse was to accept. It would cost him nothing—probably he’d get his wine and mineral water and cigars free. And he’d have a rare chance at Honoria. But her face came before his mind. He decided that he would do well to wait until he could learn whether she was really part of the inviting “we.”
Although he was not welcomed, but merely tolerated, he seated himself on the extension of a vacant chair beside her and talked—hunting, which, as she had shown him, was her weakness. She was soon interested, and she unbent toward him so far that, when her father came and renewed his invitation, she joined in it. Just as Frothingham accepted he saw Barney half a dozen chairs away glowering at Longview. “I’ll offend Barney, no doubt,” he said to himself. “But I’ll risk it. I must play the cards I have in my hand.”
Barney came into the smoke-room late in the evening as he was sitting there, having a final whiskey and water before going to bed. “Won’t you have a high ball or something?” he asked, making room for Barney’s broad form.
“No, I never touch liquor. Don’t allow it in my house. It’s no good—no business man ought to touch it.”
“I suppose not,” replied Frothingham, feeling that here was new evidence of the essentially degrading nature of business.
“I missed you at dinner,” Barney went on.
“The Longviews invited me to feed with them,” replied Frothingham carelessly. “They eat in their sitting room. Sorry to leave you, but the service is much better.”
Barney’s maxillary muscles expanded and contracted with anger. He half snorted, half laughed. “You might know,” he said, “that that shark-faced snob would invent a new way of making himself ridiculous. So, the general dining room ain’t good enough for him, eh? He is a swell, ain’t he? I should think he and his—no, leave the young lady out of it—I should think he’d be ashamed to fish for you so openly.” Barney’s tone softened apologetically, greatly to Frothingham’s surprise, as he added: “I don’t blame you, Mr. Frothingham. I understand how it is with you titled people in your country. I don’t blame anybody for walking round on human necks if their owners’ll allow it. But we feel differently about all those kind of things.”