“But that so often works,” Caroline said.
“I was never going to make any mistakes,” Nancy said. “I was going to keep my fists scientifically shut, and my heart beatifically open.” She hesitated. “I—I was going to swing my life, and my undertakings—right.” It became increasingly hard for her to speak, and a little gasp went round the table. “I’ve—I’ve made 268 nothing—nothing but mistakes,” she finished piteously.
“But you’ve rectified them,” Betty put in vigorously. “Nancy, dear, I’ve never known you to make a mistake that you haven’t rectified, and that is more than I can say of any other person in the world.”
“Sirloin and carrots,” Caroline said, as the next course came in. “I’ll wager you’ve cut the price of this dinner in two by judicious ordering.”
“There’s nothing else but field salad,” Nancy said, still piteously, “and raspberry mousse.”
“Nancy, you’ll break my heart,” Betty said, wiping her eyes frankly, but Nancy only looked at her wonderingly, wistfully, preoccupied and remote, while Preston Eustace gazed at Betty as if he too would find a welcome relief in shedding a heavy tear or two.
“Collier Pratt has broken her heart, Dick,” Betty told him in the limousine on the way home. “It’s been going on ever since the first time she saw him. Down at the restaurant we’ve all known it. She’s been eating at his table every night for months, and Gaspard and everybody else in the place, in fact, has been a 269 slave to his lightest whim. I’ve always disliked him intensely, myself.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before, Betty?”
“It wasn’t my business to tell you. I thought it was coming off, you know.”
“What was coming off?”