"Don't let us go to bed for a few minutes yet, Claude," she said. "You aren't sleepy, are you?"
"Not a bit."
He sat down on the chintz-covered sofa near her.
"It went off well, didn't it?"
She was looking into the fire. Her narrow, long-fingered hands were clasped round her knees. She wore a pale yellow dress, and there was a yellow band in her dark hair, which was arranged in such a way that it looked, Claude thought, like a careless cloud, and which gave to her face a sort of picturesquely tragic appearance.
"Yes, I think it did."
"They all liked you."
"I'm glad!"
"You make an excellent host, Claudie; you are so ready, so sympathetic! You listen so well, and look as if you really cared, whether you do or not. It's such a help to a man in his career to have a manner like yours. But I remember noticing it the first time I ever met you in Max Elliot's music-room. What a shame of Adelaide Shiffney not to come!"
Her voice had suddenly changed.