“Well, girls,” said Bartlett.
“What do you think of them, Bartlett?” demanded their father. “I mean what do you think of them?”
“They’re great!” replied the guest with creditable warmth.
“I mean aren’t they pretty?”
“I should say they are!”
“There, girls! Why don’t you thank Mr. Bartlett?”
“Thanks,” murmured Norma.
“How old are you, Norma?” asked Bartlett.
“Six,” said Norma.
“Well,” said Bartlett. “And how old is Grace?”
“Four,” replied Norma.
“Well,” said Bartlett. “And how old is baby sister?”
“One and a half,” answered Norma.
“Well,” said Bartlett.
As this seemed to be final, “Come, girls,” said their mother. “Kiss daddy good night and I’ll take you back to Hortense.”
“I’ll take them,” said Gregg. “I’m going upstairs anyway. And you can show Bartlett around. I mean before it gets any darker.”
“Good night, girls,” said Bartlett, and the children murmured a good night.
“I’ll come and see you before you’re asleep,” Celia told them. And after Gregg had led them out, “Do you really think they’re pretty?” she asked Bartlett.
“I certainly do. Especially Norma. She’s the image of you,” said Bartlett.
“She looks a little like I used to,” Celia admitted. “But I hope she doesn’t look like me now. I’m too old looking.”
“You look remarkably young!” said Bartlett. “No one would believe you were the mother of three children.”
“Oh, Mr. Bartlett! But I mustn’t forget I’m to ‘show you around.’ Lou is so proud of our home!”
“And with reason,” said Bartlett.
“It is wonderful! I call it our love nest. Quite a big nest, don’t you think? Mother says it’s too big to be cosy; she says she can’t think of it as a home. But I always say a place is whatever one makes of it. A woman can be happy in a tent if they love each other. And miserable in a royal palace without love. Don’t you think so, Mr. Bartlett?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Is this really such wonderful Bourbon? I think I’ll just take a sip of it and see what it’s like. It can’t hurt me if it’s so good. Do you think so, Mr. Bartlett?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Well then, I’m going to taste it and if it hurts me it’s your fault.”
Celia poured a whisky glass two-thirds full and drained it at a gulp.
“It is good, isn’t it?” she said. “Of course I’m not much of a judge as I don’t care for whisky and Lou won’t let me drink it. But he’s raved so about this Bourbon that I did want to see what it was like. You won’t tell on me, will you, Mr. Bartlett?”
“Not I!”
“I wonder how it would be in a highball. Let’s you and I have just one. But I’m forgetting I’m supposed to show you the place. We won’t have time to drink a highball and see the place too before Lou comes down. Are you so crazy to see the place?”
“Not very.”
“Well, then, what do you say if we have a highball? And it’ll be a secret between you and I.”
They drank in silence and Celia pressed a button by the door.
“You may take the bottle and tray,” she told Forbes. “And now,” she said to Bartlett, “we’ll go out on the porch and see as much as we can see. You’ll have to guess the rest.”
Gregg, having changed his shirt and collar, joined them.
“Well,” he said to Bartlett, “have you seen everything?”
“I guess I have, Mr. Gregg,” lied the guest readily. “It’s a wonderful place!”
“We like it. I mean it suits us. I mean it’s my idear of a real home. And Celia calls it her love nest.”
“So she told me,” said Bartlett.
“She’ll always be sentimental,” said her husband.
He put his hand on her shoulder, but she drew away.
“I must run up and dress,” she said.
“Dress!” exclaimed Bartlett, who had been dazzled by her flowered green chiffon.
“Oh, I’m not going to really dress,” she said. “But I couldn’t wear this thing for dinner!”
“Perhaps you’d like to clean up a little, Bartlett,” said Gregg. “I mean Forbes will show you your room if you want to go up.”
“It might be best,” said Bartlett.
Celia, in a black lace dinner gown, was rather quiet during the elaborate meal. Three or four times when Gregg addressed her, she seemed to be thinking of something else and had to ask, “What did you say, sweetheart?” Her face was red and Bartlett imagined that she had “sneaked” a drink or two besides the two helpings of Bourbon and the cocktail that had preceded dinner.
“Well, I’ll leave you,” said Gregg when they were in the living-room once more. “I mean the sooner I get started, the sooner I’ll be back. Sweetheart, try and keep your guest awake and don’t let him die of thirst. Au revoir, Bartlett. I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. There’s a fresh bottle of the Bourbon, so go to it. I mean help yourself. It’s too bad you have to drink alone.”
“It is too bad, Mr. Bartlett,” said Celia when Gregg had gone.
“What’s too bad?” asked Bartlett.
“That you have to drink alone. I feel like I wasn’t being a good hostess to let you do it. In fact, I refuse to let you do it. I’ll join you in just a little wee sip.”
“But it’s so soon after dinner!”
“It’s never too soon! I’m going to have a drink myself and if you don’t join me, you’re a quitter.”
She mixed two life-sized highballs and handed one to her guest.
“Now we’ll turn on the radio and see if we can’t stir things up. There! No, no! Who cares about the old baseball! Now! This is better! Let’s dance.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gregg, but I don’t dance.”
“Well, you’re an old cheese! To make me dance alone! ‘All alone, yes, I’m all alone.’ ”
There was no affectation in her voice now and Bartlett was amazed at her unlabored grace as she glided around the big room.
“But it’s no fun alone,” she complained. “Let’s shut the damn thing off and talk.”
“I love to watch you dance,” said Bartlett.
“Yes, but I’m no Pavlowa,” said Celia as she silenced the radio. “And besides,
