Hugh was suddenly there with them, materialized from the shadows. “I’ll drive you home,” he said authoritatively.
Although the girls had not known that any one was near them on the terrace they did not start at the sudden apparition. “I heard you, Anne,” Hugh added. “And your hunch, at least, is wrong. Joan definitely ended things last Sunday at the Hunt-Smith’s. As it happens, we’re both very happy about it. Thank you all the same, and Glenn!”
Although he addressed Anne, he was looking at Ariel, and Anne, even by moonlight, caught the quality of that look. She drew in her breath sharply. So that was it. And she hadn’t dreamed. God help Glenn then, and on this day of all days!
“But of course you’re not going so early!” Joan, visibly non-plused, refused to see Ariel’s hand held out for good-by. “Why should you, so early?”
Ariel looked down at her aquamarine. “I’m afraid I have to, Mrs. Nevin. Grandam may need me.”
“But surely not. Did she ask you to break up the party so early?”
“No—But I must—So, good night. And thank you very much.”
“Oh, very well then. So sorry. Glenn, you’ll drive Ariel home and come back, won’t you?” Joan put it as a command.
But Michael Schwankovsky boomed, “I shall be very happy to take the rest of the Weymans home in my car, if Glenn doesn’t get back. Youth, Joan, youth!—No! This is not our ‘good-by,’ my Ariel. I shall put you into the car carefully, right beside your young man. Not?”
Joan was trying to catch Hugh’s eyes, but he was looking at Ariel. “I’m taking Ariel home,” he said. “Sorry, Glenn.” But his voice was vibrant. His face, his voice—together with Ariel’s pale, victorious face—told a great deal. But Joan shrank back from understanding what was becoming plain to most of the others.