“You could be sick. I’ll phone for a car.”
“Golly there’s Jojo.... Hello Jojo”; she waved her gloves above her head.
John Oglethorpe, his face powdered, his mouth arranged in a careful smile above his standup collar, advanced between the crowded tables, holding out his hand tightly squeezed into buff gloves with black stripes. “Heow deo you deo, my deah, this is indeed a surprise and a pleajah.”
“You know each other, don’t you? This is Mr. Baldwin.”
“Forgive me if I intrude ... er ... upon a tête à tête.”
“Nothing of the sort, sit down and we’ll all have a highball.... I was just dying to see you really Jojo.... By the way if you havent anything else to do this evening you might slip in down front for a few minutes. I want to know what you think about my reading of the part....”
“Certainly my deah, nothing could give me more pleajah.”
His whole body tense George Baldwin leaned back with his hand clasped behind the back of his chair. “Waiter ...” He broke his words off sharp like metal breaking. “Three Scotch highballs at once please.”
Oglethorpe rested his chin on the silver ball of his cane. “Confidence, Mr. Baldwin,” he began, “confidence between
husband and wife is a very beautiful thing. Space and time have no effect on it. Were one of us to go to China for a thousand years it would not change our affection one tittle.”