"Somewhere out of this house—that's the main thing. Since the furnace was put in it's like a Turkish bath."
"You're going for a walk?" Lorry went to the bed and picked up the hat. It was a new one with a French maker's name in the crown. "You oughtn't to hack this hat about, Chrystie. I wouldn't wear it when I went for a walk."
"Do you think it would be better to wear it in the house? Having bought it I must wear it somewhere."
Lorry, laughing, put on the hat and looked at herself in the glass. There was a moment's pause, then the chair creaked under a movement of Chrystie's, and her voice came very quiet.
"Lorry, do you like Boyé Mayer?"
Lorry, studying the effect of the hat, did not answer with any special interest. The Perfect Nugget had lost all novelty for her. He came to the house now and then, was a help in their entertainments, and was always considerate and polite—that was all.
"No, not much," she murmured.
"Why not?"
"It's hard to say exactly—just something." She placed her hand over a rakish green paradise plume to see if its elimination would be an improvement.
"But if you don't like a person you ought to have a reason."