Deane told Carol that it had been an amusing experience, but one not to be repeated; to which Carol replied as he raised one plump hand, the palm outward, “Heaven forbid!”
Deane tried to be pleasant, but she didn’t feel well. The air was sticky, and she wanted to sit down with Martin and have him hold her tightly and listen to him swear for five minutes. Martin could swear so beautifully that it purified a room like rain.
Martin knew what Deane was thinking and he reached for her hand. Carol saw this and cleaned his cigarette holder with a clear, refined disapproval. Then he meticulously cleaned his ear with the finger Martin wanted. He cleaned his ear thoroughly; but his movements were elegant. The expression on his face was Olympian.... He was alone in the room. Then he looked more cheerful. He was not alone. He was in New York, visiting.... He tried to yawn and couldn’t; but he slapped his lips lightly and smiled at Martin.
“Deane has a lovely apartment—doesn’t she?”
Martin nodded, but remained silent.
Carol’s mouth became firm again and he tapped the floor petulantly with the toe of his shoe.
Martin arose, went to a table where there was whisky and poured himself a drink.
Carol watched him for a moment, then stood up and took Deane’s hands.
“I have an appointment, my dear,” he said gently. “It has been good to find you.” He hesitated, lifting one eyebrow. “And I am happy to have met your friend.”