He proceeded to order a light supper that would not take too long.
Skip crushed him by saying:
"Ain't the little lady takin' nothin'?"
Kedzie was afraid to speak. She put her finger on the menu at a
chafing-dish version of chicken, and the Marquess added it to his
order. Skip shuffled away without recognizing Kedzie. She waited
only for his exit to make her own.
It was terrifying enough to realize that the moment Skip caught
a glimpse of her he would hail her noisily and tell the Marquess
all about her. There still lingered in Kedzie a little more honesty
than snobbery and she felt even less dread of being "bawled out" by
a waiter in the presence of a Marquess than of having Skip Magruder
know that she was in such a place even with a Marquess. Skip had
been good to her and had counseled her to go straight.
She felt no gratitude toward him now, but she could not face his
contempt. That would be degradation beneath degradation. She was
disgusted with everything and everybody, including herself. The
glamour of the escapade was dissipated. The excitement of an illicit
amour so delicious in so many farces, so tenderly dramatic in so
many novels, had curdled. She saw what an ugly business she was in
and she was revolted.
Kedzie waited only to hear the swinging door whiff after Skip's
syncopated feet, then she whispered sharply across the table to
the Marquess:
"Take me out of this awful place. I don't know what I'm doing here.
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