“I’m going to put Mr. Croyden with you.”
“How nice of you! But I warn you, Mr. Croyden, I am a very exacting partner. I may find fault with you, if you violate rules—just draw your attention to it, you know, so you will not let it occur again. I cannot abide blunders, Mr. Croyden—there is no excuse for them, except stupidity, and stupidity should put one out of the game.”
“I’ll try to do my very best,” said Croyden humbly.
“I do not doubt that you will,” she replied easily, her manner plainly implying further that she would soon see how much that “best” was.
As they went in to the drawing-room, where the tables were arranged, Miss Erskine leading, with a feeling of divine right and an appearance of a 80 Teddy bear, Byrd leaned over to Croyden and said:
“She’s the limit!”
“No!” said Leigh, “she’s past the limit; she’s the sublimated It!”
“Which is another way of saying, she’s a superlative d—— fool!” Dangerfield ended.
“I think I understand!” Croyden laughed. “Before you came, she tackled me on Art, and, when I confessed to only the commercial side, and an intention to sell the Stuart and Peale, which, it seems, are at Clarendon, the pitying contempt was almost too much for me.”
“My Lord! why weren’t we here!” exclaimed Byrd.