“I’m thrilled to death at Stratford Keane getting a break,” Simon assured her. “And I should be almost ecstatic if you’d never introduced him to me.”
It was a little late to dream along those lines, for Mr Keane was already upon them and fully determined to make the most of their acquaintance. He held a half-filled glass over his heart and bowed deeply.
“Ah, Miss Holm! And Mr Templar,” he boomed, causing people several tables away to look up and try to locate the loudspeaker. “Well met, well met!”
Patricia smiled.
“How are you this evening, Mr Keane? — Won’t you sit down?” she added hastily, as Mr Keane leaned rather heavily on the table and shook a few drops out of their cocktails.
“A pleasure,” Mr Keane sat down, and heaved a vast and doleful sigh. “Ah, this is indeed a haven in a world where every man must play a part — and mine a sad one...”
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“I have just returned from the theater,” stated Mr Keane tragically, as if he were announcing the end of the world. “We went through one of our final rehearsals.”
“Was that bad?” Simon asked.
Stratford Keane surveyed him pityingly.