“Won’t you have some more—?”
“Brandy,” she said, sipping her last drop and putting down the glass. The waiter disappeared.
“No,” she said to Birkin. “He doesn’t know I’m back. He’ll be terrified when he sees me here.”
She spoke her r’s like w’s, lisping with a slightly babyish pronunciation which was at once affected and true to her character. Her voice was dull and toneless.
“Where is he then?” asked Birkin.
“He’s doing a private show at Lady Snellgrove’s,” said the girl. “Warens is there too.”
There was a pause.
“Well, then,” said Birkin, in a dispassionate protective manner, “what do you intend to do?”
The girl paused sullenly. She hated the question.
“I don’t intend to do anything,” she replied. “I shall look for some sittings tomorrow.”