She turned away from him and refused to speak again. His half-flirtatious, half-patronizing manner offended her deeply, and was far more of an affront to her than Logan’s almost open scorn of her as a little bread-and-butter miss. She wished Mendel would leave the pianola, but he was enthralled and could not tear himself away. He played the same tune over and over again, or went straight from one to another, swaying to and fro, beating time with his hands, swinging his head up and down.
Mitchell went very red in the face and slipped away. Presently she saw him dancing with Oliver.
After a few moments she found Logan by her side, and he said kindly:—
“I’m afraid you are not enjoying yourself much.”
“Oh yes!” she gasped, in a frightened voice.
“I was thinking you were not used to this kind of thing.”
“Oh yes! I often go to parties in people’s studios.”
“I remember, I saw you at the Merlin’s Cave one night.”
“Yes, I remember. I didn’t enjoy that a bit. It all seemed such a sham.”
“So it was,” said Logan. “So is most of this. These people aren’t really wicked, though they like to pretend they are. I don’t dance myself. I’m too clumsy. Clog-dancing I can do, but not dancing with anybody else. . . . But perhaps I am keeping you——?”