“I don’t like it. I don’t find it amusing,” she said, faintly.
Gethryn’s hand closed on hers.
“Nor I,” he said.
“But you and your friends used to go to the students’ ball at ‘Bullier’s,’” she began, a little reproachfully.
“Only as Nouveaux, and then, as a rule, the high-jinks are pretty genuine there—at least, with the students. We used to go to keep cool in spring and hear the music; to keep warm in winter; and amuse ourselves at Carnival time.”
“But—Mr Clifford knows all the girls at ‘Bullier’s.’ Do—do you?”
“Some.”
“How many?” she said, pettishly.
“None—now.”
A pause. Yvonne was looking down.