Oliver began to scream at the top of her voice.
“Shut up!” said Logan. “You’ll have us turned out.”
“I don’t care,” she replied. “I don’t care. I can’t stand all this talk about painting.”
“What do you want us to talk about?” said Mendel, tingling with exasperation. “Love? Three men and one woman can’t talk about love.”
“Well, I didn’t come to Paris to sit in a dirty bedroom talking about pictures. I want to go out to see the streets and the shops and the funny people.”
“For God’s sake take us somewhere,” said Logan.
Thompson, having ascertained that they had plenty of money, took them to Enghien by the river. Oliver was happy at once. She wanted to be amused and to be looked at, and as she was bouncing and rowdy she had her desire.
She made Logan play for her at the little horses, but, as she did not win, she was soon bored with it. Logan was bitten and could not tear himself away. Mendel stayed with him and she disappeared with Thompson.
“I’m bound to win if I go on,” said Logan. “There’s a law of chances, you know, and I’ve always been lucky at these things. . . . It is so exciting, too.”