He cut off, leaving Westervelt with his mouth open and his regained aplomb shaky. The youth waited until he caught Smith's eye, and shook his head to indicate the unimportance of the call. He wondered if he ought to take time to phone downstairs for a report on the situation. It did not strike him as worth the risk with all the people in the same room.
He saw Beryl strolling his way and rose from her chair.
"That's all right, Willie," she said calmly, setting her packaged drink on the desk. "I just wanted to give you back your handkerchief."
She produced it from the purse lying on her desk and said, "Thanks again. I'm sorry about the make-up marks."
"Forget it," said Westervelt.
"I'm sorry about the eye too," said Beryl, raising her eyes for the first time to examine the damage. "It ... doesn't look as bad as Si said."
"Well, that's a comfort, anyway. I got something in it and rubbed too hard, you know."
"Yes, she told me," said Beryl. "To tell the truth, Willie, I didn't know I could do it."
"Aw, it was a lucky swing," muttered Westervelt.
"Yes ... I, well ... you might say I was a little upset."