She looked through him, her eyes drawn curtains, “That isn’t rain, is it?”
George frowned. “I hope not.” He glanced over his shoulder Rain marks showed on the windows. “It Is, I’ m afraid. Aren’t we unlucky? It always rains for us.”
“Oh, damn! I hope we can get a cab.”
George signalled to the waiter, who brought the bill. It was for twenty-five shillings. Cheap, and jolly good, George thought. We must come here again. Only perhaps she’ll be less worried and jumpy next time. He had to admit that the evening hadn’t been a success. Cora had behaved—was behaving now—like someone awaiting a major operation. She had not been concentrating, and George was prepared to swear that she couldn’t have repeated to him anything of what he had said to her during the whole evening. Her eyes were never still, and she continually moistened her lips with her tongue. She had all the symptoms of acute nervousness.
George waved away the change which the waiter brought him “Shall we go, or shall we wait a hit?” he asked Cora.
“We’re closed now,” the waiter said as he moved away.
“Oh, well,” George said, pushing hack his chair, “I suppose we’d better go, then.”
Cora drew a deep breath and got to her feet. George was surprised to see that she swayed unsteadily. It dawned on him that he was feeling comfortably tight. The martinis and the two bottles of wine had found their way to his head. He grinned a little foolishly. They certainly seemed to have found their way to Cora’s legs.
“Steady,” he said, taking her arm; “careful how you go.”
She pushed him away. “Shut up, you fool!” she said in a low, furious whisper. Her eyes blazed, and George was so astounded by her vehemence that he gaped at her. She lurched unsteadily down the aisle between the tables, and he heard her muttering furiously to herself. The sudden change in her mood stupefied him. She had seemed sober enough while she had been at the table, but now she seemed as tight as a tick.