“He’s a funny little queer, isn’t he?” commented Holton.
“He’s one of the great aesthetes. You’re glad you came tonight?”
“It’s interesting,” he said. He was defending himself now.
“This is a very ...” she paused, trying to think of the right word, “trivial world. I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“Perhaps I will. I used to be something of a sculptor.” He said this laughing, and she could see that he was quite serious.
“Then why don’t you do it?”
“I wasn’t good enough. I haven’t done any since I was in college.”
“Would you like to do it?”
“I don’t think so.” She couldn’t tell whether he meant this or not.
The waiter came and put their glasses down on the table with a look of boredom; in fact, he yawned slightly as he did it. He tried to catch Holton’s eye but failed. Sulkily he walked away.