During the meal Billy Salute appeared at a table across the room and invisible to Fowey, whose back was toward it, but still not far enough removed to prevent Joan from recognizing that look in the dancer's eyes which she resented so angrily. She didn't once look at the man; but she never quite lost sight of him, and was well aware that he was ridiculing Fowey to his companion—an actor, by many an indication, but a stranger to Joan.
Provoked, she demonstrated her contempt of Salute by flirting outrageously with Fowey. Unconscious of her motive, that aspiring little dramatic author lost his head to some extent. Now and again his voice trembled when he spoke to her, and once he mumbled something about marriage, but checked at discretion, and let his words trail off inarticulately.
Joan was not to be denied.
"What did you say?" she demanded, with her most distracting smile.
"Oh, nothing of any importance," muttered Fowey, his face reddening.
"But you did say something. I only caught part of it. Hubert, I want to know!"
It was the first time she had used his given name.
"I—I only wondered if you were married," he stammered. "You talk so cursed little about yourself!"
"Does it matter?" she parried, surrender in her eyes.
He choked and gulped on his champagne.