“Yes, thanks, I’m thirsty. I’ve been at the Gaiety, and theaters always make me dry.”
Bobby, as a rule, was not at a loss for conversation in such society as the present, but Marian’s beauty and style overawed him at first. As for her, she was mad with the spirit of dare-devilry and threw away all remaining sense of decency. She drank eagerly at the brandy-and-soda, soon handing the glass to Bobby to be replenished.
“Say when,” he said, holding up the tumbler and the spirit decanter.
“When!” said Marian, stopping him when he had poured out a stiff allowance, “and not too much water. And then you may mix quite a mild dose for yourself.”
She laughed gayly as she took the glass from him, and Mrs. Harding was not so engrossed in her companion’s talk as to fail noticing Marian’s wildness.
“Been dining too—eh, Maid Marian?” she asked.
“Yes, so I’m not hungry, only thirsty. Now, Bobby, amuse me.”
“Talk, tell stories, anything except be serious. I daresay Ethel told you I was a serious young person, but I’m not. She don’t really know me.”
“Nor do I,” said Bobby; his eyes adding that he would like to do so.
“That’s a misfortune that can be mended.”
Her color heightened and her eyes grew brighter as the brandy warmed her blood, and a stray tress of hair fell deliciously down her neck. She put up her feet on his knees as she repeated:
“Bobby, amuse me. I want amusing badly. You look full of fun. Look here, Ethel, you play us a tune and we’ll dance. I must do something!”
She sprang up and was pushing the table aside with Bobby’s assistance, when Mrs. Harding stopped her.
“For the Lord’s sake, no. We shall wake the people below, and they’re goody-goody and will kick up a devil of a fuss.”
She tried to push Marian back on to the sofa, but she resisted.
“No, I won’t. You said the four had better split up. So we will. Come along, Bobby, we’ll trot downstairs to my place and leave these two to canoodle by themselves.”
The next day her head ached rackingly, and she had but dim recollections of what she had done the night before. She remembered getting out a bottle of wine, which she and Bobby had drunk together; remembered having become uproariously merry; then quarrelsome over something he had said or done; then madly merry again; she dimly remembered his embrace and his going away in the dim gray of the early morning, making some excuse about having to go back to his rooms to dress as he had to be at the office early. Her head ached and her eyes were heavy and hot. Her clothes were wildly tossed about the room and one of his white gloves stared at her ridiculously as it lay on the dark carpet. Several sovereigns lay on the dressing table. She rang the bell and the maid brought her tea, which seemed tasteless, and a letter from Maddison, which she threw impatiently aside, unopened.