"Friends! I have no friends," says Marian Bethune sombrely. "I have learned to forbid myself such luxuries. I can't afford them. I find them too expensive!"
"Expensive?"
"Yes. A loss to me of peace of mind that can never be made up." She smiles at Tita, a cold, unpleasant smile. "Do you know what my definition of a friend is? Someone who takes delight in telling you all the detestable things your other friends have said of you."
"I don't think much of your friends, any way," says Mrs.
Chichester, who as a rule is always en évidence. "Do you, Sir
Maurice?"
"Do I what?"
"Do you agree with Mrs. Bethune?"
"I always agree with everybody," says Rylton, smiling.
Tita moves abruptly away.
"What a hot day it is," says she petulantly, "and nothing to do. Tom," beckoning Hescott to her, "tell us a story. Do. You used to tell beautiful ones—in—the old days."
"Do you still long for them?" asks Mrs. Bethune, always with her supercilious smile, and in a tone that is almost a whisper, yet quite loud enough for Rylton, who is standing near, to hear.