Marie was impressed--at least with his assurance and the
chrysanthemums, over which she was sufficiently enthusiastic to
satisfy even Joe. Since he had driven to the house in a hired
automobile, he presently had the added satisfaction of handing
Marie into the tonneau as though she were a queen entering the
royal chariot, and of ordering the driver to take them out around
the golf links, since it was still very early. Then, settling
back with what purported to be a sigh of bliss, he regarded Marie
sitting small and still and listless beside him. The glow of the
chrysanthemums had already faded. Marie, with all the girlish
prettiness she had ever possessed, and with an added charm that
was very elusive and hard to analyze, seemed to have lost all of
her old animation.
Joe tried the weather, and the small gossip of the film world,
and a judiciously expurgated sketch of his life since he had last
seen her. Marie answered him whenever his monologue required
answer, but she was unresponsive, uninterested--bored. Joe
twisted his mustache, eyed her aslant and took the plunge.
"I guess joy-ridin' kinda calls up old times, ay?" he began
insidiously. "Maybe I shouldn't have brought you out for a ride;
maybe it brings back painful memories, as the song goes.
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