“You look marvellous,” George said, and meant it. “It suits you.”
“You’re all alike,” she returned. “Do you really think a girl ought to live in a get-up like this?” Her lips twisted. “I haven’t another rag to my name “
Pity stirred in him. “I say—I’m awfully sorry…”
She finished her sandwich, her eyes brooding and bitter.
“So long as Sydney gets what he wants,” she said after a pause, “he doesn’t care a damn about me. He doesn’t care what I’ll do tonight.” She suddenly shrugged. “Well, never mind. It’s early to worry about that now.” She pushed a wave of hair back from her cheek and then rubbed her temple with one finger. “Tell me about Frank Kelly.”
“Who?” George flinched away from her.
She hit her knuckle and looked at him over her hand.
“Sydney told me. You and Frank Kelly. At first I didn’t believe it, but now I’ve seen you…”
George emptied his glass and got up to refill it. There was a glint in her slate-grey eyes that could have meant anything: curiosity, admiration, desire…
“Seen me? I don’t understand.”