‘Afraid I have, Gladys.’ And he showed her the flask.
‘Well, I must say, Bill, you are a pig.’ And the girl made a face when he threw her a rather perfunctory ‘Sorry.’ She was now sitting close to the fire and, having pulled off the high boots she had been wearing, was holding out one steaming silk-stockinged foot after another near the blaze.
‘I’ve got a pair of slippers with me that I had in the car,’ she confided to Margaret, ‘and that’s all I have got. What a night! I’ll bet you had it pretty rough, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, it was very bad,’ Margaret answered indifferently.
‘Well, we’re out of it now all right unless this place is swamped during the night.’ Then she lowered her voice. ‘Any beds going?’
Margaret shook her head. ‘No, we shall have to stay in here all night.’ Her voice sounded stiff, unfriendly, and that was a pity perhaps, but really she couldn’t help it. She had spent years disliking the type at a distance and she couldn’t change in a few minutes just because this obvious week-ending chorus girl had chanced to come under the same roof, out of the same wild night. The man was different. She didn’t mind him. Indeed, his very bluffness and vulgarity would be useful here, breeding a coarse sanity in this queer situation.
They were returning to supper now. Morgan had lurched off with his plate, and the others were settling down again at the table. The baronet confessed that he was ready for some cold meat and bread and cheese, and had found a place between Margaret and Mr. Femm. ‘Come along, Gladys,’ he called, ‘if you want something to eat. We interrupted this little supper party and we’ve been asked to join it.’
‘Righto,’ she cried. ‘I’m coming.’ And Penderel brought up a chair for her and she sat down by his side. He noticed that she met the long stare of Miss Femm, now so much folded and silent fat, with a smile that was deliciously near a grin. It wasn’t mere cheek either. This girl was all right.
She looked at him frowningly. ‘What’s your name? Sorry, but I can never remember.’
‘Penderel.’ And that’s the worst of being nobody in particular, he thought, for you always feel a fool when you bring out your name.