Thrice round the café, and flinging down the chairs, they streamed out into the street....
At the door Betty kissed Babette good-night; and it was at this moment, as their party stood about, that Betty, taking Moll Davenant’s arm, was accosted by Quogge Myre, who at once assumed the tone towards her that he considered so fascinating to women—a tone of chivalrous condescension. Betty fretted under the attention of his repulsive eyes. She did not like the man—his intent regard could not escape her. He was asking if he might call upon her; and she was answering that she was denying herself all social calls until she had finished a work on which she was engaged, when he put out his hand familiarly and with his fingers flipped the ends of the ruffle that she wore:
“You look nice and fresh,” he said.
Betty turned her back upon him. He always affected her like filth; when he spoke it was as if filth could speak.
She slipped her hand through Molly’s arm.
Horace Malahide, who had watched the incident, laughed:
“Come, Babette!” said he—“we’ll see Noll and Betty and Moll home.”
Betty drew Moll Davenant away as Aubrey put his heels together and gave his bow like a dancing-master.
“Come, Moll,” said she, and squeezing the girl’s arm, she added in a laughing whisper—“and I’ll find Eustace to-morrow.”
To her surprise there was no answering smile.