Cluett got up, and came over, and stood beside her.
"Not to-night," he said, looking down. The champagne had brought a kind of dull color to his cheeks and forehead. "What do we want with music, kid? Come on—let's be a little friendly, huh?" His strong lean arm slid around her waist.
It was then that Daisy lifted up her face, let all the coquetry pass from it, and regarded him with eyes that were straight and sober.
"Stop it!" she said.
For answer, the arm tightened about her. Nick Cluett leaned to kiss her.
"If you don't stop it," said Daisy, rigid in his arms; "you're no gentleman."
Cluett relaxed his arm a little. His queer-smiling face, with its keen eyes, slanted down towards her in concentrated, silent interrogation. Daisy's spirit of mischief tempted her to drop her eyes; but she managed to resist the impulse and to keep her features sober-expressioned.
"You're not goin' to be friendly, then?" he said.
Daisy dimpled ever so slightly. "Not just now", she answered.
"Do you mean that—or don't you?"