Are you game ?" "I'd love to, but I promised Malcourt that--" "Oh, nonsense! Louis can wait for you to go North and lay out Mr.
Portlaw's park.

I've the first call on you; I've got you for the winter here--" "But Portlaw says--" "Oh, bother Mr.Portlaw! We'll take him along, too, if he can tear himself away from the Beach Club long enough to try less dangerous game." Since Malcourt's arrival he and Portlaw had joyously waded into whatever gaiety offered, neck-deep; Portlaw had attached himself to the Club with all the deliberation of a born gourmet and a hopeless gambler; Malcourt roamed society and its suburbs, drifting from set to set and from coterie to coterie, always an opportunist, catholic in his tastes, tolerant of anything where pretty women were inclined to be amiable.

And they often were so inclined.
For his own curiosity he even asked to be presented to the redoubtable Mrs.Van Dieman, and he returned at intervals to that austere conservatory of current gossip and colonial tradition partly because it was policy, socially, partly because, curiously enough, the somewhat transparent charms of Virginia Suydam, whom he usually met there, interested him--enough to make him remember a provocative glance from her slow eyes--very slow, deeply lidded eyes, washed with the tint of the sea when it is less blue than green.

And the curious side of it was that Malcourt and Virginia had met before, and he had completely forgotten.

It was difficult to tell whether she had.
He usually remembered women who looked at him like that, tucking them away in his mental list to be investigated later.