"Come along, Julia. We are glad to have met you, Mr.
Ingram." He held out his thin, blue-veined hand. "We'll see you
again."
Prince looked hopelessly at Connie's back, for her face was already
turned toward the dining-room. How cold and infinitely distant that
tall, straight, tailored back appeared.
"Ask him to eat with us," Connie hissed, out of one corner of her lip,
in David's direction.
David hesitated, looking at her doubtfully. Connie nudged him with
emphasis.
Well, what could David do? He might wash his hands of the whole
irregular business, and he did. Connie was a writer, she must have
material, but in his opinion Connie was too young to be literary. She
should have been older, or uglier, or married. Literature is not safe
for the young and charming. Connie nudged him again. Plainly if he
did not do as she said, she was going to do it herself.
David turned to the brown-faced, sad-eyed son of the mountain ranges,
and said:
"Come along and have dinner with us, won't you?"
Carol pursed up her lips warningly, but Prince Ingram, in his
eagerness, nearly picked David up bodily in his hurry to get the little
party settled before some one spoiled it all.
He wanted to handle Connie's chair for her, he knew just how it was
done.
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