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Like a spoiled school-lad, badly brought up, he sometimes defied Malcourt's authority as in the matter of the dam enjoying his own perversity. But he always got into hot water and was glad enough to return to safety.
"There was" said Malcourt; and ironically condoled with him as Portlaw accomplished a little slam in hearts. Then Tressilvain dealt; and Malcourt's eyes never left his brother-in-law's hands as they distributed the cards with nervous rapidity. "Misdeal," he said quietly. "What?" demanded his sister in sharp protest.
There's somebody here who wants to meet you, but Portlaw's got her somewhere. You'll take supper with us anyway! We'll find you a fair impenitent." Hamil stared at him coolly. He was on no such terms with Malcourt, drunk or sober. But everybody was Malcourt's friend just then, and he went on recklessly: "You've got to stay; hasn't he, Dolly? Oh, I forgot Miss Wilming, Mr.
The newly chiselled letters seemed vaguely instinct with something of Malcourt's own clean-cut irony; they appeared to challenge him with their mocking legend of death, daring him, with sly malice, to credit the inscription.
A number of very young men looked around at him with hostile eyes; Malcourt's brows lifted a trifle; then he shot an ironical glance at Shiela and, as the circle about her disintegrated, sauntered up, bland, debonair, to accept his congé.
I begin to believe I was mistaken after all. What do you think, Louis?" Malcourt's eyes wandered toward his wife who still bent low over her sewing. "I don't think," he said absently, and sauntered over to Shiela, saying: "It's rather dull for you, isn't it?"
His bow, a shade exaggerated, and the narrowed mockery of his eyes escaped her; and even what he said made no impression as she stood, brightly inattentive, looking across the little throng at Hamil. And Malcourt's smile became flickering and uncertain when she left the terrace with Hamil, moving very slowly side by side across the lawn. "Such lots of pretty women," commented Shiela.
Portlaw's eyes bulged; Hamil had to bend his head low over his plate, but Malcourt's bland impudence remained unperturbed. "Good God!" muttered Portlaw; "Hamil, did you ever hear of passing electricity through a salad dressing composed of olive oil, astragon, Arequipa pepper, salt, Samara mustard, essence of anchovy, chives, distilled fresh mushrooms, truffles pickled in 1840 port did you?"
"They concern you and myself." "I know of no private matters which concern you and myself or are ever likely to." Malcourt's face darkened. "I think I warned you once that one day you would misunderstand my friendship for you." Hamil straightened up, looking him coldly in the eye. "Malcourt," he said, "there is no reason for the slightest pretence between us.
And he thought again of Malcourt's nineteen little josses which he lugged about with him everywhere from some occult whim, and in whose gilt-bronze laps he sometimes burned cigarettes, sometimes a tiny globule of aromatic gum, pretending it propitiated the malice-brooding gods. And, thinking of Malcourt, suddenly he remembered the door-key. Malcourt could not get in without it.
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