She delivered his coup de grace unerringly.
"Take my advice and let love-making alone, or if you must make love, do it as other gods do—my messenger. Otherwise your Elysian dignity is in jeopardy. You are not the kind of man that women love, mon cher. Come, it is time that we joined the others."
She led him down the avenue of roses, every line of her graceful figure rebuking his insufficiency, and he followed dumbly, aware of it.
Upon the terrace occupied by couples intent upon private matters, she promptly deserted him, leaving him without a word to his own devices. He stood for a moment of uncertainty, and then fumbling in his pocket for his pipe, which was not there, went into the smoking-room in search of a cigarette.
"Two spades," declared Archie Westcott at the auction table, and then when Markham went out, "Odd fish—that."
"Three hearts," said Mrs. Renshaw. "Why Hermia asks such people I can't imagine. You're never certain whom you're asked to meet nowadays. Prig, isn't he?"
"Oh, rather! Has ideals, and all that sort of thing, hasn't he, Hilda?"
"If his ideals are as rotten as his manners I can't say much for 'em."
"Olga likes him—"
"Oh, Olga—" sniffed Hilda. "Anything for a new sensation. Remember that queer little French marquis who trailed around after her at Monte Carlo?"