“You can talk them to me.” “You’re not rouged. If you were, I shouldn’t.” “I don’t think you ought to speak in this way of my friends,” she remarked. “I suppose I am rude, and I beg your pardon. But they’re not your friends. They are a troupe of mountebanks whom you engage to entertain you. Come out on to the loggia.” “And catch my death of cold? No, thank you.” “You have scarcely spoken a word to me all the evening.” “I speak to those who amuse me.” “With blackguardly French stories.” “That’s my affair.” “I don’t like to see those fellows leering at you,” he said, sulkily. To such a point of intimacy had three weeks’ intercourse brought them. Minna broke into the low notes of her laughter. “Why shouldn’t they? It pleases them and doesn’t hurt me. And _vice versa_. Also, you know, I’m not a monopolisable woman. If you’ll go and talk nicely to Madame Raborski, I’ll let you give me some supper.” “All right,” he said; “where is the siren?” She conducted him to the group, performed the introduction. He bowed with the Englishman’s stiffness. The other men politely made place for him. He sat down and endured a quarter of an hour’s anguish. Minna joined the roulette-players, where Mrs. Delamere was staking on even chances, according to an infallible system in which one only plays every tenth or fifteenth game. It suited her purse and protracted the excitement. After winning a few hundred francs, Minna released Gerard from Madame Raborski, who had been trying to create an impression. But the supper-room was full; the hostess became the centre of flowery compliment, delivered with much uplifting of shoulders and spreading of thin bejewelled hands. Gerard chafed and felt his own great fingers tingle. He was not a man accustomed to the amenities of society. During his domesticated days, he went out with Irene only under compulsion. Women bored him, save those whom he appropriated to himself. Then he preferred seclusion with the chosen individual. Among these easy-mannered adventurers and satirical, sharp-witted women, he seemed as uncouth as a bear in a wilderness of monkeys. The comparison was Minna’s, in an after talk with Mrs. Delamere. Consciousness of his lack of adaptability did not soothe his temper. He felt annoyed with himself for coming. “Don’t look so glum,” whispered Minna. “Give me some of that pâté and look after the truffles.” He helped her solemnly, and brought the plate to the corner of the table where she was sitting. Then stood by her, at attention, while she jested with her neighbours. When she had finished, he escorted her to the salon, where she left him to join a handsome woman, in a very low dress, who was playing the piano. Mrs. Delamere, who had abandoned the roulette-table, took pity on him, and sat down with him on a divan against the wall. Being an Englishwoman of his own class, she could make herself companionable, and draw him on to his own subjects, the fortune he had made, the big game he had shot.