“In other words,” said the former silkily, “I can’t carry my liquor.”
“I never said or suggested such a thing. For all I know, you could drink me under the table.”
“Then what’s the point of your protest?”
Short-skirted, perched upright on a table, her knees crossed, one admirable leg slowly swinging, her beautiful fingers drumming deliberately upon the table’s edge, Eve was superb. If her wonderful hair had been about her shoulders, she might have sat to a Greuze and furnished gaping posterity with a new ideal.
Jeremy swallowed.
“I think it’s a pity,” he said, “deliberately to put off what so very few women have.”
“What’s that?”
“Your ladyship.”
Eve raised her brown eyes to heaven.
“Because I drink two cocktails instead of one——”