“It's a trade, Dixie? If I stick to you, you'll stick to me?”
She considered this; finally, very quietly, barely parting her lips, replied, simply: “Yes.”
He drew in his breath with a whistling sound.
She added, then: “Careful, Jim! I know how you feel, but don't let yourself talk.”
“I know, Dix, but my God! When I think of how you've kept me dancing this year—and now—”
“I'll say this, Jim. Just this. If you knew everything about Tex Connor—”
“You mean, he's tried to—”
“I mean certain things he's said to me. If you're as fond of me as that you'd understand why I've felt, once or twice, like killing him. That man is a devil, Jim.”
Then she slipped away.
Miss Carmichael sat deliberately through tiffin; discreetly quiet, as always; apparently without nerves. The Kid ate rapidly, speaking not a word, seldom looking up from his plate. Tex Connor was calmly wooden, as always, though at intervals Miss Carmichael felt his eye on her as she daintily nibbled her curry.