Hale said to me, “You’ve talked with Miss Winton before?”
“No. I’ve wanted to, but-well, somehow, it just didn’t come off.”
She said, “Faint heart never won fair lady. Don’t let things get you down, Donald.”
The waiter brought our drinks. Hale paid for them. He picked his glass up, an expression of austere disapproval held in escrow on his face, ready to be delivered as soon as the first sip of liquid passed over his tongue. I saw a look of surprise on his face; then he took another sip and said, “Good heavens. Lam, that’s good! ”
“I told you it was.”
“Why, I like it. It’s a delightful drink. Much better than the conventional Scotch and soda. It has just enough body without having a cloying sweetness.”
Marilyn sipped her cold tea and said, “I like this bourbon and plain water. It’s a nice drink — when you’re doing quite a bit of drinking.”
Hale seemed shocked. He looked her over and said, “Do you do a lot of drinking?”
“Oh, off and on.”
His eyes looked her over, searching for evidences of extreme dissipation.