“Jenny, you’re a genius! that bit of bye-play with the glass was magnificent.”
“I am, I am, aren’t I?—‘I thought you were shamming, but I was wrong,’” she mimicked triumphantly. “—Oh Hell!” and burrowed her face sharply into the pillow.
“What is it?” alarmed, Deb sprang forward.
“You taken in too?” Jenny, without lifting her head, broke into shrill peals of laughter which she seemed unable to repress. “Oh—oh—oh—I’ve taken you in too!... Dearest—” this in response to the soldier’s fingers roaming at the nape of her neck—“Don’t pull your hand away—don’t—it’s heavenly—it soothes me.... What does it matter? we’re all playing the fool; Dolph is playing the idiot in the other room; we’re all mixed up, anyway. Deb, give me that tea—I’m crazy with thirst,” she snatched the glass; gulped down the contents. “What about those asparagus?”
“They ought to be done enough now; you shall have some if you’re good. What do you think, nurse? one or two? and the rest for us.”
Deb nodded professionally. But it struck her that Jenny was rather making capital out of the privileges of her present rôle. Why had she not thought to be herself the one who was ill? But Jenny was really ill so often—it was less likely to cause suspicion.
The soldier removed the tin of asparagus from Cora; and seating himself on the edge of the bed, began to curl them slowly, tantalizingly, into Jenny’s mouth. “I’ve never seen you look quite so healthy; in case any more of the neighbours drop in to enquire, we may as well cast a dissembling shadow on that blooming cheek, those brilliant brown eyes. Deb, put out the light.”
Deb obeyed. The asparagus were finished, one by one. A crash of discordances, as though someone had suddenly sat on the keys of the piano, sounded from the adjoining room; and La llorraine’s wild, deep laughter. Jenny lay as though exhausted, nuzzling against Burton Ames’ shoulder.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“So miserable ... and I’m tired of going on.”