What! D'you mean it's really the first----?
CLARE nods. The champagne has flicked her courage.
YOUNG MAN. By George! [He leans back] I've often wondered.
ARNAUD. [Again filling the glasses] Monsieur finds----
YOUNG MAN. [Abruptly] It's all right.
He drains his glass, then sits bolt upright. Chivalry and the
camaraderie of class have begun to stir in him.
YOUNG MAN. Of course I can see that you're not--I mean, that you're
a--a lady. [CLARE smiles] And I say, you know--if you have to--
because you're in a hole--I should feel a cad. Let me lend you----?
CLARE. [Holding up her glass] 'Le vin est tire, il faut le boire'!
She drinks. The French words, which he does not too well
understand, completing his conviction that she is a lady, he
remains quite silent, frowning. As CLARE held up her glass, two
gentlemen have entered. The first is blond, of good height and
a comely insolence. His crisp, fair hair, and fair brushed-up
moustache are just going grey; an eyeglass is fixed in one of
two eyes that lord it over every woman they see; his face is
broad, and coloured with air and wine. His companion is a tall,
thin, dark bird of the night, with sly, roving eyes, and hollow
cheeks. They stand looking round, then pass into the further
room; but in passing, they have stared unreservedly at CLARE.
YOUNG MAN. [Seeing her wince] Look here! I'm afraid you must feel
me rather a brute, you know.
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