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He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. The touch of her hands was pleasurable. What does it matter? It is here, and it is here to stay. 48 <6> THE FRIDAY NIGHT SHOW The air was chill and the sky overcast and misting. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. It would be too mortifying. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived.
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