“Bibby” Worthington, as everybody knew, had been “coming out” for ten years, with each season’s crop of debutantes, and each season had offered his hand and heart to the newest of them.
But the question touched his dignity in more than one tender spot, and he refused to reply.
“They’re all queens,” sighed the Colonel, raising his glass. “I love ’em all, God bless ’em, their rosy faces, their round limpid eyes——”
“And the smell of bread and jam from the nursery,” put in Spencer, the materialist, dryly. “Some newcomers, aren’t there, Billy?”
“Oh, yes, a few Westerners.”
“Oh, well, we need the money, you know.”
The crowd broke up into groups of two and three, each with its own interests. Gallatin rose and joined Kane and Endicott at the window, where the three sat for awhile watching the endless procession of vehicles and pedestrians moving up and down the Avenue.
“Good sport in Canada, I hear, Phil,” said Percy in a pause of conversation.
Gallatin glanced quickly at his companion.