My dear Luttrell, as you know, you are a guest very welcome to me.
But you don't belong.

We--Maud Carstairs, Tony Marsh and the rest of us--even Mario Escobar--we are the Come-to-nothings.

We are the people of the stage door, we grow fat in restaurants.

From three to seven, you may find us in the card-rooms of our clubs--we are jolly fine fellows--and no good.

You don't belong, and should get out while you can." Luttrell moved uncomfortably in his chair.
"That's all very well.