“What did he think I was going to do?” Sylvia snapped. “Put pepper on the hymeneal pillow?”
“You said you wouldn’t be angry.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, don’t use long words, because it makes me think you are.”
Soon after Lily came to Tinderbox Lane, Sylvia met Dorothy Lonsdale with a very lovely dark girl called Olive Fanshawe, a fellow-member of the Vanity chorus. Dorothy was glad to see her, principally, Sylvia thought, because she was able to talk about lunch at Romano’s and supper at the Savoy.
“Look here,” Sylvia said. “A little less of the Queen of Sheba, if you don’t mind. Don’t forget I’m one of the blokes as is glad to smell the gratings outside a baker’s.”
Miss Fanshawe laughed, and Sylvia looked at her quickly, wondering if she were worth while.
Dorothy was concerned to hear she was still with Lily. “That dreadful girl,” she simpered.
“Oh, go to hell,” said Sylvia, sharply, and walked off.
Next day a note came from Dorothy to invite her and Lily to tea at the flat she shared with Olive.