Dalrymple was now alone at the buffet, a benign smile upon his aged face, and his attitude that of one by the world forgotten.
"Any time. Let me know," said Patricia, very gravely, and without coquetry.
"But how can I find you?"
"Amy.... Any way, it's ..."
She was giving him her address when Rhoda appeared against the doorway, all muffled in furs, with her expression one of impatience ill-concealed. Harry shook Patricia's wrist, and made off to the door. He turned as he reached it, and kissed his hand. Patricia, with her head back and her eyes suddenly sombre, waved in return. He was gone. She turned to Amy, who was frowning at Jack Penton. Amy sharply whispered:
"How are you going to get home?"
As if in answer, Dalrymple approached rather lurchingly from the buffet. He smiled ingratiatingly upon the reduced company.
"Where's ... where's my lit ... little ... companion?" he said, coming towards them. It was clear that although he could control his movements he was no longer quite sober.
"No," said Amy, in Patricia's ear.
"I wonder if I might give you a lift in my car, Miss Quin."