“It is only the beginning. I don’t know—”
She answered Thair, but all the while was watching Longacre coming across the floor, with a word here and there, and bright, absent eyes. His look found concentration as he paused in front of her. His eyes were more eager than she had seen them for longer than she cared to remember. He was less at ease, too. His looks at Thair were hints. When the returning violins urged that gentleman in the direction of his hostess and his hostess’s daughter, Longacre, as if at last released, burst out:
“Now let’s get out of this before any more come along!”
“Any more?” She was composed about it.
“That two hundred pounds of commercialism looking in this direction.” He indicated Holden with a sliding eye.
“Why, Tony, what has happened to you?”
“Don’t you know?” He was smiling, but well in earnest. “I haven’t said a word to you,” he pronounced impressively, “for twenty-four hours.”
“But why?” She seemed to challenge him with: “Whose fault is that?”
“Because you dodged,” he replied coolly. “And unless I look out, you’ll do it again.”
“And your suggestion is that we dodge together?”