"What would you have done?" asked Wenny eagerly leaning over the table.
"If I had been the girl? How can I know? I wonder sometimes if just the wanting so hard to succeed wouldn't make you throw the whole thing away in one mad moment. It's hard to explain."
"Sure, I know what you mean. No, but about the Italian?"
"What a silly question Wenny," said Fanshaw.
"Perhaps not so silly. Who can tell?"
They were silent a moment. The orchestra was playing The Soldiers Chorus. The waiter brought coffee.
"And another bottle," said Wenny jauntily.
Fanshaw frowned. They had had enough to drink. What a child Wenny was anyway. With unexpected tenderness he pictured himself putting him to bed drunk, unlacing his shoes, pulling off his trousers. A sudden desire came to him to draw a hand over Wenny's crisp short hair.
"There is something strangely fantastically dismal about that gondola with its red light as an end to romance. I wonder where those stairs go."
Nan nodded her head.