Under the hum of the lights he was thinking that he had been a fool not to learn dancing, no matter how the Reverend Otto Carmichael denounced it as a survival from the barbaric Congo.

He was also thinking that the Montague girl ought to be kept away from people who were trying to do really creative things, and he was bitterly regretting that he had no silver cigarette case.

The gloom of his young face was honest gloom.

He was aware that his companion leaned vivaciously toward him with gay chatter and gestures.

Very slowly he inhaled from a cigarette that was already distasteful--adding no little to the desired effect--and very slowly he exhaled as he raised to hers the bored eyes of a soul quite disillusioned.