Tommie’s eyes were fixed on Candon.
“It was you collared me,” said she to him.
The blue eyes of Candon met the liquid brown eyes of Tommie.
He nodded his head.
Tommie considered him for a moment attentively, as though he were an object of curiosity or a view—anything but a living male being. It was sometimes a most disconcerting thing about her, this detachment from all trammels of sex and convention, the detachment of a child. She seemed making up her mind whether she liked him or not and doing it quite openly, and her mind seemed still not quite made up when, with a sigh, she came to.
“Well,” said she, “and now about getting back.”
“That’s the question now,” said George hurriedly and with his lips suddenly gone dry so that he had to moisten them. “We’ve got to get you back.”
“Yes, that’s so,” said Hank, unenthusiastically. “We’ve got to do it somehow or ’nother.”
“Look here,” said George, suddenly taking his courage in both hands. “I don’t mind the row we’re sure to get into, it’s the guying that gets me. Think of the papers. When we started out on this fool business we got it pretty hot—and now this on top of everything.”