“Doing marvelously. These charming people here are dining with me, aren’t you?”
Carla looked uncertain and Holton nodded. Mr Heywood wondered where Holton had run across Lewis.
“I’m really,” said Lewis in a conspiratorial voice (an old woman’s voice, thought Mr Heywood, frowning slightly), “just doing a job. Her husband is one of our idols and I may get a perfectly marvelous essay out of her. I knew his work so well.” Mr Heywood wondered vaguely why Lewis was explaining so many things.
“I see,” said Mr Heywood. He turned to Carla. “Delighted to have met you.” He nodded to Holton. “I shall probably see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir; good night, sir.” Mr Heywood glided away toward the door.
Mrs Stevanson appeared beside him just as he had made up his mind to leave.
“Do cheer up, Heywood. You look so petulant!”
“I’m not really, Helena, not really.”
“I’m not so sure. Who’re you looking at?” He glanced away quickly but she saw that he had been watching Carla. “Lovely, isn’t she? I’m afraid she’s stuck with that Holton boy and, my Lord, George Robert’s got her, too. The poor child and...” Mrs Stevanson was surprised. “I do think they’re leaving!”
“After all,” said Heywood soothingly, “it is a cocktail party. They probably weren’t able to find you.”