“Where are we going?” he asked suspiciously.
“Out to the car. I want a drink, don’t you? Harvey’s waiting.”
“No. If you don’t mind, I won’t come along.” He was afraid of Harvey; afraid that he would be in the way. Harvey had danced with Gin held very close, in a very proprietary manner.
She tugged at him. “Come along. You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to, but please come on. Please. I hate sitting out there alone with him.”
That settled it and he stopped short. “No,” he said flatly. “No I won’t.”
She cried out impatiently and began to argue, as he knew she would. But whatever she was saying, he did not hear; he was suddenly listening to another voice behind him, that struck him with terror.
“There’s Blake Lennard,” he heard, and knew it was Maria. “Oh Blake! turn around.”
He obeyed, but he was very fearful. Maria was hanging to the arm of Mrs. Lyons, and she was dressed magnificently in a Spanish dress of black lace. Inherited, probably. She narrowed her eyes as she smiled and he thought nervously that she looked like the—was it basilisk or obelisk? Mrs. Lyons, always stupid, now beamed at them maternally as Maria seized his free arm. Maria ignored Gin completely. “Aren’t you going to dance with me?” she asked him.
“Surely. See you later—just a minute.” He pulled away and hurried out, with Gin looking back wonderingly at the little girl.
“Good heavens. Who is that little vamp? What’s been going on between you?” She was giggling.