presenting Pollen's appearance of security; his attitude of complacence
in the face of feminine authority. But was he complacent? Mrs. Ennis had
her doubts. He was very vain; underneath his urbanity there might be an
elastic hardness.

There were, moreover, at times indications of a rather contemptuous
attitude toward a world less highly trained than himself. She turned to
Pollen, trying to recollect what for the last few moments he had been
saying to her. He perceived her more scrutinizing attention and faced
toward her. From under lowered eyelids he had been watching, with a
moody furtiveness, Mary Rochefort and Burnaby, who were oblivious to the
other two in the manner of people who are glad they have met.

Mrs. Ennis found herself annoyed, her sense of good manners shocked. She
had not suspected that Pollen could be guilty of such clumsiness; she
questioned if matters had reached a point where such an attitude on his
part would be justifiable under any circumstances. At all events, her
doubts concerning his complacency had been answered. It occurred to Mrs.
Ennis that her dinner-party was composed of more inflammable material,
presented more dramatic possibilities, than even she had divined. She
embraced Pollen with her smile.

"What have you been doing with yourself?" she asked.

He lifted long eyebrows and smiled faintly.

"Working very hard," he said.

"Building behemoths for billionaires?"