“Won’t you take Helen down, Mr. Markand?”
And there was Westerling offering the precedence through the door to a Miss Sophie Laurence who seemed very heavy and stupid. All of these pretty ways were disconcerting since they hid something, David felt, and he knew not what.
He became part of the round table. Feeling himself a part and feeling Mrs. Daindrie at his left smile and be warm to him, David was eager to move himself away, just so he could truly see that he was part of this bright round table.
Miss Daindrie smiled at him, as at an accomplice.
“These are my family,” she seemed to tell him.
He was at ease. He was unafraid of silence. So was Miss Daindrie. He said to himself: “I am sitting here quietly silent, just like Miss Daindrie.”
“Well, Mr. Markand? I understand you are musical. You play the piano?” asked Mrs. Daindrie. Quite abruptly she put her inapposite questions.
“Do have some more of the fish!”
“I imagine you feel quite like a New Yorker.”
She left him alone. All of them left him alone. He was of them all.