I saw him say something, saw them pivot to look at me, shrug their shoulders and walk away.

I didn't in the least grasp the significance of the scene--not then.
"What's the matter ?" I asked my returning friend; "were they talking about me ?" He answered nervously.
"Oh, it was about your aunt's Salon, you know.

They might have been going to say something awkward ...

one never knows." "They really _do_ talk about it then ?" I said.

"I've a good mind to attend one of their exhibitions." "Why, of course," he said, "you ought.