"Surprised to see me here?" said Massingale, taking his seat. "You know, I turn up everywhere. I'm one of those who circulate. I came with Sada Quichy—she's great fun!"
In fact, in New York three classes are privileged at every door—privileged because they have the power to make themselves feared: the politician in office; the representative of the press; and the judge who, at a word, can unloose the terrors of both the others.
"Don't forget what you told me yesterday," she said, turning to him directly, haunted by the malice in his eyes when he had seen her handed down from Sassoon's automobile.
"What did I tell you?"
"That you would not misunderstand me!"
"I don't!" he said, after an ineffectual attempt to see her face. "But—are you strong enough to play the game you are playing?"
"Sassoon?"
"Yes, Sassoon!"
She thought of him, ruffled and rebellious, forced to accompany her to the stage entrance. She held him in slight respect.
"Pooh! Sassoon!" She had a feeling that this man already had her confidence, that she could talk freely with him. "Harrigan Blood, yes; but not Sassoon!"