Orde flushed a little. The last time he had supped at Jane Hubbard's, that was exactly what they did do.
“They are young, of course,” he said, “and you and I are very old and wise. But having a noisy, good time isn't such a great crime—or is it where you came from?”
The girl leaned forward, a sparkle of interest in her eyes.
“Are you and I going to fight?” she demanded.
“That depends on you,” returned Orde squarely, but with perfect good-humour.
They eyed each other a moment. Then the girl closed her fan, and leaned forward to touch him on the arm with it.
“You are quite right not to allow me to say mean things about your friends, and I am a nasty little snip.”
Orde bowed with sudden gravity.
“And they do throw bread,” said he.
They both laughed. She leaned back with a movement of satisfaction, seeming to sink into the shadows.