Magnolia glanced from one to the other. There were people at the clerks’ desk, leaning against the marble slab. She waited, nervous, uncertain. She would speak to the old man. She did not want, somehow, to appeal to the glittering one. But he saw her, smiled, left the man to whom he was talking, came toward her. Quickly she touched the sleeve of the old man—leaned forward over the marble to do it—jerked his sleeve, really, so that he glanced up at her testily.
“I—I want—may I speak to you?”
“A moment, madam. I shall be free in a moment.”
The sparkler leaned toward her. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Ravenal?”
“I just wanted to speak to this gentleman——”
“But I can assist you, I’m sure, as well as——”
She glanced at him and he was a row of teeth, all white and even, ready to bite. She shook her head miserably; glanced appealingly at the old man. The sparkler’s eyebrows came up. He gave the effect of stepping back, courteously, without actually doing so. Now that the old clerk faced her, questioningly, she almost regretted her choice.
She blushed, stammered; her voice was little more than a whisper. “I . . . my husband . . . have been . . . he hasn’t returned . . . worried . . . killed or . . . theatre . . .”
The old baby cupped one hand behind his ear. “What say?”
Her beautiful eyes, in their agony, begged the sparkler now to forgive her for having been rude. She needed him. She could not shout this. He stepped forward, but the teeth were hidden. After all, a chief clerk is a chief clerk. Miraculously, he had heard the whisper.