Gay approached dapperly, bowed to all, and laid his hand on the back of Dougal's chair. Dougal leaned forward and avoided him.
"Good evening, everybody," said Gay affably. "The gang is still alive, I see!" He smiled inclusively. Nobody answered.
"I should think you'd want to find another restaurant, now," he continued. "This place is getting altogether too dead. It's only a show place now. All the life seems to have gone out of it."
"That's right," Maxim murmured.
"Funny how places run down,"—Gay was forcing it hard—"why, I know several people who won't come here any more. It isn't like it used to be, anyway, nowadays." He grew a little nervous at his apathetic reception, but went on. "Say, I've got a lady over there I'd like to introduce to you people. She's a corker. Suppose I bring her over. You need another girl."
Benton shook his head. "Not to-night, Gay. Sorry. Executive session."
Gay looked round the table, noted the two empty places and started: "But couldn't—"
"No," said Benton, "we couldn't. Some other time."
Gay, about to move away, looked at Dougal. "Say," he said, "what's become of Fancy Gray? Are you expecting her to-night?"
At the sound of the name Mabel dropped her head on her arms and began to cry aloud. Her shoulders worked convulsively.