"If you are afraid for your license, Dudley, I'll say I hid without your knowing it. I'll say one of the others let me in. Please, Dudley. I'm sorry I talked to you like that."
She was making a fool of him, and of herself, he decided. And in another minute, she would spill the whole thing, the way she was sounding off. And her friends were beginning to look hostile as it was.
"What's the trouble?" asked one of them.
"Nothing that won't clear up if you pour a couple of drinks into her," said Dudley disgustedly.
He walked away, and they held her from following.
"Dudley!" she yelled after him. "They'll send me back! Please, Dudley. I won't go. You remember what I said about going back—."
Her voice was getting too shrill. Someone in the group must have put his hand over her mouth, for when Dudley looked back, they were rounding a corner of the corridor more or less silently.
Eileen waited in the half-open door, watching him quizzically. "Friend of yours?" she drawled.
"After a fashion," admitted Dudley, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead. "Spoiled brat!"
He fumbled in a pocket of his jacket, and withdrew a small package. "Here's the bracelet that matches that necklace," he said. "I knew I had it in my locker somewhere."