“Oh, yes.” Mrs Stevanson looked around the room. He could see that she was preparing to leave him alone.
He was wrong. “You must,” she said, “meet some friends of mine. They’re foreigners and they’ve only just arrived. They don’t know anyone....” She was going to say “either” but did not.
She led him over to a small group of men and women. Mrs Stevanson didn’t know their names but she acted as if they were her dearest friends.
“This young man is Robert Holton. His mother was a great friend of mine and you must be nice to him.” She was cute. “He’s just gotten out of the navy.” She looked up suddenly with a magnificent gesture, looked as if someone had hailed her from across the room. “Oh, I have to go! Please excuse me.” She moved away in a swirl of silk, her bright blue hair bouncing on the back of her thick white neck.
“How do you do,” said Holton, shaking hands with a dark man. Then he shook hands with a light man, with a short heavy one, with a thin blonde girl and finally he shook hands with Mrs Bankton.
“How do you do,” said Robert Holton.
“How do you do,” said Mrs Bankton. Her voice startled him. It was deep and foreign and she had said the “you” as though she had really meant him.
“I’m very well,” he said and he looked at her. Her hair was dark. Her eyes were greenish and bright and shining. He looked at her mouth, red and curved, elfinly shaped. He stammered, “I know you. I know you but....”
“But who am I?” She laughed and gestured with her long white hands.
“Yes, who are you?”