Nothing ever escaped her eye. She remarked, as he helped her into the limousine, that Richard had a new cap and puttees.
“You haven’t had him in uniform before, have you?” she inquired. “I thought you had some democratic convictions on the subject.”
“So I had,” he admitted, “but I’ve changed my mind. He’s part of an institution, with his uniform on, and it helps him keep out of mischief. At least, that’s the theory. Besides, he likes it.”
There had been a lot of rambling chatter like that, to which he had contributed with unusual animation; but Nancy dodged from under the fusillade of inconsequential talk presently, eager to be enlightened.
“Bobby,” she said, as his beautiful new car had swung into the current of boulevard traffic, and lengthened its stride, “something tells me this is to be a rather difficult event.”
“You always were a keen observer, Nancy,” he conceded.
“One didn’t have to be gifted with occult powers to see that the atmosphere at Brightwood, this afternoon, was heavily charged.”
“Pardon the interruption, but—I like you tremendously in that colour. You are very beautiful tonight, dear.”
“Meaning that you don’t want to tell me about it?”
“Well—perhaps … Something like that.”
“Very good, then. I shall shut my eyes, ears, and mouth. I am the three wise monkeys. I’ll pretend I don’t know that you two have had a quarrel.”
“That’s a dear!”
“And I shall also pretend I don’t know that you silly things are so deeply in love you’re afraid to exchange glances for fear your secret may be discovered.”
“I still think you are beautiful, Nancy.”
“But dumb!”
“No, no! Not that! … Quite exasperatingly to the contrary!”
At this she had forgiven him, squeezed his hand, called him her dear boy; and, for the rest of the trip, discussed hospital affairs in a most businesslike manner.
They stepped out, at the Book-Cadillac, into a big-flaked snowstorm, and hurried to cover through the revolving doors. Joyce and Helen were awaiting them, by appointment, on the mezzanine, Joyce almost boisterously gay, swishy and sinuous in some green taffeta confection, wearing the corsage he had sent her; and, unless he was much mistaken, she had tucked a cocktail or two under his orchids, for there was a taut nervousness in her canary gestures and a strident overtone in her voice hardly to be had for less bother than the embarkation of about three jiggers of gin … If Helen observed it, she was apparently resolved to ignore it. Seeing it was an occasion for the wholesale ignoring of unpleasant facts, there was probably no reason why she should cavil at this one … What an adorable creature she was … in the black velvet … and the pearls … and his orchids. So she had actually consented to wear them! … Score one against the beloved enemy!
Curiously enough, Joyce, from the first moment, had seemed bent upon hurling them at each other, almost violently … Maybe it was the gin … Perhaps her instinct told her there was some unspoken bond between them which it was her duty to make articulate … Of course, it was always difficult to guess what, how, or whether Joyce was thinking … But, whatever her motive, if she had one, she was at no pains to disguise her intention to make this little party the occasion for a rapid development of their budding acquaintance … as if it were some fungus that must mature now or never.
Indeed, she had been utterly ruthless. Over the salad, she had chinked a momentary gap in the conversation by murmuring to herself, in an exaggeratedly stilted style, “Mis‑ses Hudson! … Doc‑tor Merrick! … Dear me!”—with a shrug and a sigh—“I had hoped they might be Bobby and Helen by this time!” To which Helen had replied, leaning toward her, in an apologetic, maternal undertone, “Drink your milk, little one. There’s a good child!” … They had laughed, their merriment in the nature of applause.
The hotel was suffocatingly crowded. Some big trade convention was on, and the public lounges and foyers were swarming with fussy fat men, wearing long blue and gold badges on their lapels, beads of perspiration on their foreheads. Dozens of them were milling about, bound in as many directions, teetering themselves crabwise athwart the current, begging pardons, right and left, in the tone of “Gangway!” Their corrugated brows certified that unless they managed to squeeze through, the whole enterprise, after all this trouble and expense, would be futile.
Their weary wives sagged in every available chair, conscious of their redundant knees, pecking at fresh marcels with nervous fingers. A few of the more intrepid attempted a languorous indifference toward their unaccustomed cigarettes which, however, they regarded gingerly and at arm’s length, as foolhardy urchins hold sputtering firecrackers—nonchalantly, but with secret concern at the tail of the eye.
Joyce had impetuously taken Nancy’s arm and led the way.
“Keep close, you two,” she shrilled, over her shoulder, “and don’t get lost. We must hurry, so we will not be late for the theatre!”—and had swept Nancy along into the squirming pack.
Bobby had offered his arm to Helen and she had taken it; not perfunctorily, but as if she wished to do so … She really needn’t have done it … Neither Joyce nor Nancy could observe them … She might have ignored his gesture … It was not necessary she should play a part at that moment.
They were jostled in the crowd. He had drawn her closer to him, and she had responded … No—it was not merely that she had been pressed against him from without … She had responded … There was a difference. He had drawn her closer to him, and she had responded! …
He relighted his pipe, mechanically, and absently held the match until it nipped his fingers.
She had responded so generously that he could feel the warm, soft contours of her against his arm … She needn’t
