“Dear you dont understand ... You never will understand.”
They sat a long while without saying anything, scraps of lowvoiced conversation came to them from other corners of the dim tearoom. The palehaired waitress brought them two orders of fruit salad.
“My it must be getting late,” said Ruth eventually.
“It’s only half past eight.... We dont want to get to this party too soon.”
“By the way ... how’s Jimmy Herf. I havent seen him for ages.”
“Jimps is fine.... He’s terribly sick of newspaper work. I do wish he could get something he really enjoyed doing.”
“He’ll always be a restless sort of person. Oh Elaine I was so happy when I heard about your being married.... I acted like a damn fool. I cried and cried.... And now with Martin and everything you must be terribly happy.”
“Oh we get along all right.... Martin’s picking up, New York seems to agree with him. He was so quiet and fat for a long while we were terribly afraid we’d produced an imbecile. Do you know Ruth I don’t think I’d ever have another baby.... I was so horribly afraid he’d turn out deformed or something.... It makes me sick to think of it.”
“Oh but it must be wonderful though.”
They rang a bell under a small brass placque that read: Hester Voorhees Interpretation of the Dance. They went up three flights of creaky freshvarnished stairs. At the door open into a room full of people they met Cassandra Wilkins in a Greek tunic with a wreath of satin rosebuds round her head and a gilt wooden panpipe in her hand.