“I know,” agreed Drew, nodding his head.
“Let me make some tea,” suggested Deane, as spiritedly as she could.
For a moment the adviser was gentle.
“No, Deane,” he said. “You shouldn’t bother. You see,” he smiled somewhat wanly, “everything is stimulated enough.”
“Of course,” said Drew. “It’s getting too late anyway.”
Across from them, Carol’s head seemed to pivot around the side of his chair like the brass plate of a revolving door.
“Of course, dear,” he repeated. “It’s getting too late.” Then with a slithering movement, his head spun slowly round again and he could be heard faintly whispering, “It will soon be cocktail time ... cocktail time.”
Roberts shuddered.
“That should settle it,” said Martin. He lit a cigarette and looked at Rio. “But it won’t. Do you have anything to add about tea, sailor?”