“‘Man’—my petticoat!” observed Roberta. “What’s the matter with you, Drewena? That one is dashed for fair! Her hard-boiled act doesn’t fool me a bit. She’s a damned poseur and as full of bitchery as——”
“Stop shaking,” broke in Drewena. “For heaven’s sake! All the cats are beginning to gossip about the way you’re acting. See old Docky talking with her hand over her mouth? She knows perfectly well that I can read lips. If she hadn’t been a splendid surgeon in her day and attended my father years ago, I should never have invited her.”
And Docky was saying to the more elderly group clustered around her at this moment, “It’s shameful the way Roberta monopolizes Drewena’s time. In a way though, one can’t blame her. For dearies, Roberta hasn’t long to be a queen at the rate she’s going!” Docky pulled her shawl more tightly about her neck.
“What is wrong with her, Docky?” asked one rather vapid, sweet-faced auntie. “Is she sick?”
At this, Docky raised her lorgnette and looked at the speaker, a quiver of amusement lacing her cheeks back and forth until it seemed they would have met if her nose hadn’t kept them apart.
“Precious!” She lifted her hand. Enormous jewels sparkled and flickered on every finger. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been out with her since she was a child—ah!” Docky breathed. “Those halcyon days!”
Back in the corner Drewena sighed.
“If you won’t, you won’t, Roberta; but it looks like intrigue, and I hate intrigue. You’re positive you won’t give even a short number? I wish you’d read one of your own lovely poems. You did, last year, and they’ll expect it. Of course, if you won’t, I’ll send Carrie over to keep you company during the program.”
“Not unless you want a murder at your drag,” said Roberta in such a menacing voice that Drewena started, then watched her guest for a moment until the fire was out of Roberta’s eyes, and some of the hatred expressed on her face had dissipated.