"Craps. I heard you stung the crowd for a hundred dollars at our party."
He was flattered and lofty. "Oh, I did pretty well. Where'd you hear about it? You weren't at the party."
"Not for long," confessed Pat. "But I was among those present for a little while."
Connection of ideas recalled to her Warren Graves and his light-hearted allure. She wished he were beside her on the settee instead of Selden. She could almost hear his voice, bantering and tender, "Sweetie," and feel the warm pressure of his arm. With him there would have been no anxious necessity of searching for topics of conversation, whereas with Selden—— Why not experiment a little, she thought, daringly. She let her hand slip carelessly from her lap to her side. It came into touch with his. The contact gave her a shock as unexpected as it was painful. She had failed to notice that he held a lighted cigarette.
"Ouch!" said Pat, and licked the wounded knuckle with a sharp, pink tongue like a young animal's.
"Let's see," said the youth.
He took her hand, glanced at it, and set his lips to the reddened skin cavalierly enough. "That better?" he asked.
Pat nodded. She stared intently at the solaced spot wondering what the progress of the game would be. In Thorpe's inured mind there was no room for surmise. To him this was all formula, the parliamentary procedure of casual love-making. He drew the yielding fingers into his left hand and slipped his right arm across the slim, girlish shoulders. She leaned back a little from his embrace.
"Well?" he questioned, an easy laugh on his lips.