A man who is a
good deal dazed at the moment may fail to appreciate a remark like
'Well, Bill?' but for a girl to draw back and say, 'No, really,
Bill!' in a tone not exactly of loathing, but certainly of pained
aversion, is a deliberately unfriendly act. The three short words,
taken in conjunction with the movement, brought him up with as
sharp a turn as if she had punched him in the eye.
'Claire! What's the matter?'
She looked at him steadily. She looked at him with a sort of
queenly woodenness, as if he were behind a camera with a velvet
bag over his head and had just told her to moisten the lips with
the tip of the tongue. Her aspect staggered Lord Dawlish. A
cursory inspection of his conscience showed nothing but purity and
whiteness, but he must have done something, or she would not be
staring at him like this.
'I don't understand!' was the only remark that occurred to him.
'Are you sure?'
'What do you mean?'
'I was at Reigelheimer's Restaurant--Ah!'
The sudden start which Lord Dawlish had given at the opening words
of her sentence justified the concluding word. Innocent as his
behaviour had been that night at Reigelheimer's, he had been glad
at the time that he had not been observed. It now appeared that he
had been observed, and it seemed to him that Long Island suddenly
flung itself into a whirling dance.
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