Dolores leaned far over the table toward Blake, sniffed, and drew back, with a judicial shake of her head. "Can't detect it. But, then, I couldn't expect to, with you in the room."
"Now, Dodie!"
She again leaned over the table. "See," she whispered. "His hand is tied up. It's hurt."
"Told you he's intoxicated," insisted Ashton.
The girl moved toward a davenport in the corner farthest from Blake.
"Come over here," she ordered. "It's a nuisance to sit it out with you, when it's one of the last waltzes. At least I won't let you disturb Mr. Blake."
"Mr. T. Blake, our heroic cave-man!" replied Ashton, as he followed her across the room.
"How you love him!" she rallied. "What's the cause of your jealousy?"
"Who says I'm jealous?"
"Of course there's no reason for you to be. He's not interested in me, and you're not in Genevieve—just now."