She looked at him laughing, balancing a small cherry tartlet that had one bite out of it between a pink squaretipped finger and thumb. “Is that the way you act when you’ve got some miserable sinner on the witnessbox? I thought it was more like: Where were you on the night of February thirtyfirst?”
“But I’m dead serious, that’s what you cant understand, or wont.”
A young man stood at the table, swaying a little, looking down at them. “Hello Stan, where the dickens did you come
from?” Baldwin looked up at him without smiling. “Look Mr. Baldwin I know it’s awful rude, but may I sit down at your table a second. There’s somebody looking for me who I just cant meet. O God that mirror! Still they’d never look for me if they saw you.”
“Miss Oglethorpe this is Stanwood Emery, the son of the senior partner in our firm.”
“Oh it’s so wonderful to meet you Miss Oglethorpe. I saw you last night, but you didn’t see me.”
“Did you go to the show?”
“I almost jumped over the foots I thought you were so wonderful.”
He had a ruddy brown skin, anxious eyes rather near the bridge of a sharp fragillycut nose, a big mouth never still, wavy brown hair that stood straight up. Ellen looked from one to the other inwardly giggling. They were all three stiffening in their chairs.
“I saw the danderine lady this afternoon,” she said. “She impressed me enormously. Just my idea of a great lady on a white horse.”