"Does she understand it?" Thornton asked himself. "Is this abstraction a mere bluff because I am a stranger? Or is she only bored?"
When she noticed that Thornton was not eating or drinking she questioned him mutely with her eyes.
"Shall we leave?"
He nodded. She rose and opened the long window—passed out, as if accustomed to avoid the puddles of life. She led the way to the farther end of the veranda, where only an occasional high voice could be heard. When she had settled herself on a lounge, she sighed inconsequently.
"But perhaps you didn't want to come? You can go back. We always walk about a good deal you know, and nobody will notice. You will want your coffee and cigar; and Colonel Sparks tells amusing wicked little stories. I will stay here, though."
"And I think I will," the young man added, simply. "It's really hot."
She opened her eyelids, which usually hung a little down as if heavy.
"It tired you too, did it? Somehow I never felt so weary from it as I do to-night."
"Is it always just so?" he asked, bluntly.
"Why, of course; why not? There are different people. But dinner is always the chief affair of the day in our house; you see the men are free then and their cares are over. My father is very particular about dinner, but it is tiresome sometimes."