“Well, you’ve got to come in and have some supper with me in that case,” he cried eagerly, and she told him that she had taken him home because she knew that Mr. Ruggles would approve.
“Not much you won’t,” he said, and put his hand on the speaking tube, but she stopped him.
“Don’t give any orders in my motor, Mr. Blair. You sit still where you are.”
“Do you think that I am such a simple youth that I—”
Letty Lane with a gesture of supreme ennui said to him impatiently:
“Oh, I just think I am pretty nearly tired to death; don’t bother me. I want my own way.”
Her voice and her gesture, her beauty and her indifference, her sort of vague lack of interest in him and in everything, put the boy, full of life as he was, out of ease, but he ventured, after a second:
“Won’t you please tell me what you wanted me to do this afternoon?”
“Why, I was hard up, that’s all. I have used all my salary for two months and I couldn’t pay my bill at the Savoy.”
“Lord!” he said fervently, “why didn’t you—”