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"What's the matter with me? Too much rouge?" she asked, passing
her arm in his as they left the table.
"No: too little. Look at yourself," he answered in a low tone.
"Oh, in these cadaverous old looking-glasses-everybody looks
fished up from the canal!"
She jerked away from him to spin down the long floor of the
sala, hands on hips, whistling a rag-time tune. The Prince and
young Breckenridge caught her up, and she spun back with the
latter, while Gillow-it was believed to be his sole
accomplishment-snapped his fingers in simulation of bones, and
shuffled after the couple on stamping feet.
Susy sank down on a sofa near the window, fanning herself with a
floating scarf, and the men foraged for cigarettes, and rang for
the gondoliers, who came in with trays of cooling drinks.
"Well, what next--this ain't all, is it?" Gillow presently
queried, from the divan where he lolled half-asleep with
dripping brow. Fred Gillow, like Nature, abhorred a void, and
it was inconceivable to him that every hour of man's rational
existence should not furnish a motive for getting up and going
somewhere else. Young Breckenridge, who took the same view, and
the Prince, who earnestly desired to, reminded the company that
somebody they knew was giving a dance that night at the Lido.
Strefford vetoed the Lido, on the ground that he'd just come
back from there, and proposed that they should go out on foot
for a change.
"Why not? What fun!" Susy was up in an instant. "Let's pay
somebody a surprise visit--I don't know who! Streffy, Prince,
can't you think of somebody who'd be particularly annoyed by our
arrival?"
"Oh, the list's too long. Let's start, and choose our victim on
the way," Strefford suggested.
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