She broke away from him and descended the library steps to the ballroom, her shoulders square, her carriage relaxed and graceful. The bright chandelier lights gleamed on her skin. Lennox followed her doggedly around the edge of the ballroom and into the bar. He could not let go. He would not let up. Gabby bent over the red-head sleeping on the bar.
"Phil," she said. "It's time to leave." She shook him gently.
The red-head snorted and slept. Gabby looked reproachfully at the bartender who instantly became apologetic, as though he had personally supervised the downfall of the teacher from Yale.
"It's not your fault," Gabby told him. "He comes down from New Haven full of undergraduate notions. He had to work his way through college. He never had a chance to be hedonistic."
Lennox stepped forward. "I'll take you home, Miss Valentine."
"It isn't me that has to be taken. It's Phil."
"To New Haven?"
"What if I said yes?"
"Bon voyage, Miss Valentine."
"Oh, why are you so hostile?"