“You know it is lots of fun, Phoebe. Go along now. You like it as well as I.” He spoke immaculate English, and urged her with a slap on her rump. “Well, the people----” “----the food?” he chuckled. “The mysterious bottom of Signora Sanni’s pot. One more hoist, old lady. Th--th--ere! Where else, pray, can one meet such a delightful assortment of bulls?” “Don’t call them bulls, Jack Korn! Call them detectives.” “Here we are, dear.” David and they entered together. “Korn, I _am_ glad to see you!” Tom reached over the table and greeted him. “How’s business?” He had nodded to David and Korn’s woman with a perfunctory politeness. “Meet my dear friend, Mr. Korn,” he laughed. “Same profession as myself.” The three sat opposite Durthal and Tom and Lunn. Mrs. Phoebe Raymond was on one side of David. On the other sat Dounia Smith. All of them laughed, except David. He looked at Korn. A big, athletic fellow, clad in somber serge. He had black hair and a significant nose.... Why had all of them laughed? “I have never seen you here before, Mr. Markand,” said Phoebe Raymond. “I--I come quite often.” “Well, I don’t,” she looked full at him. “One gets so little time.” Her round face was pretty. But it was fat: its petite features were lost in flesh. Her bosom obtruded like a robin’s breast. David seemed to see, investing the round comeliness of her mouth and nose, layers of sloth and greed. A scaly dimness was already over the blue eyes. “I like small gatherings more, don’t you?” she confided. “One could get to _know_ a person then.” David had the sense that if he drank enough of the wine Mrs. Raymond would seem very pretty indeed. He began to eat. Words pattered and burst about him. The food had an exotic charm. The air was full of heated eyes and bodies. Glances and edged remarks trembled like flung spears in the flesh of the women. David kept still and went on eating. Phoebe Raymond tried to engage him in talk. “My husband and I were in Maine at the time. Do you know New England, Mr. Markand?” “Of course he knows it! Can’t you see it written all over him, Phoebe?” It was Tom drawing her away. “How dare you talk to my friend about your husband! Have you no sense of decency?” The immediate half of the table was his. He played it like an instrument. His eyes were too bright and too hard, thought David. He had little to say to him. To Durthal and to Lunn, to the women on David’s side, to Hill even and Lagora, he had more to say than to David. Most of all to Korn. But he looked often at his friend--sharp glances while his attention swathed from right to left. David was enmeshed in his running comment: all Tom said seemed to run through him and knit him. “It is hard not to be moral,” he said. “One is pushed so into good behavior.” Jack Korn sat back smiling. He was a strong man. He was very quiet. “What do you think of good behavior, Korn?” Tom asked him. “It is as good a game as another.” He paused. “Surer.”