Marc glanced at the orchestra, a disconsolate group of musicians, wedged uncomfortably into a bandstand that appeared more like a jeweler's show-case. These men peered malevolently from their perch and alleviated an obvious resentment for the paying guests by blasting away at them with their instruments as loudly and unrelatedly as possible. One young man, with some sort of horn, seemed to be nursing an especial grudge, for occasionally he would leave his seat, and coming to the front of the minute platform, set the thing into a squeal that was nothing short of terrifying.
Marc looked to the people at the tables about theirs, but none of them seemed at all disturbed by this hysterical performance. He shrugged and picked up the bottle from the ice bucket. He had never been a drinking man but he felt that it might help him to understand what was going on.
"Oh, don't we know her?" asked Toffee suddenly.
"Stop pointing—who?"
"The girl just coming in, the one with the white dress and perfectly haunting man."
Marc turned and looked in the direction Toffee had indicated.
"Why, it's Julie!" he exclaimed.
"Who's that with her?"
"Jack Snell, he's an artist with the agency. I never did like him, but he's too good a layout man to lose. I wonder what Julie's doing with him."
"Ask him over," urged Toffee.