"Well, what are we going to make?" said Nan Charters, with the enjoyment that this exhibition of feminine jealousy had brought still in her eyes.
"I don't like Garraboy," said Beecher directly.
"Why not?" she said, smiling a little, and raising her eyebrows as though interrogating a child.
"Because I like you," he answered abruptly.
Accustomed to contend with men, she was surprised by the genuineness of his remark, which was inspired by a sentiment deeper than jealousy. She looked at him again with that sudden second estimate which is vital.
"He is not difficult to handle," she said carelessly, unaware of the touch of intimacy which her reply permitted.
"I don't like him," he said obstinately, "and I don't like his crowd—the crowd that is here to-night. They're like a pack of wolves. What the deuce does Rita see in them?"
"Mrs. Kildair has generally, I should say, a very good reason for whom she invites," she said carelessly.
"But these Cheevers—they're impossible. How the deuce do they live?"
"I thought Mr. Majendie very charming."