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"
"I wish I were a man," Audrey said' suddenly. "I don't see how any
man with red blood in his veins can sit still, and not take a gun
and try to stop it. Sometimes I think I'll cut off my hair, and go
over anyhow. I've only got one accomplishment. I can shoot. I'd
like to sit in a tree somewhere and pick them off. The butchers!"
There was a roar of laughter, not so much at the words as at the
fierceness with which she delivered them. Clayton, however, felt
that she was in earnest and liked her the better for it. He
surmised, indeed, that under Audrey's affectations there might be
something rather fine if one could get at it. She looked around
the table, coolly appraising every man there.
"Look at us," she said. "Here we sit, over-fed, over-dressed.
Only not over-wined because I can't afford it. And probably - yes,
I think actually - every man at this table is more or less making
money out of it all. There's Clay making a fortune. There's
Roddie, making money out of Clay.


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