“Miss Silvestre, this is Mr. Gordon, an’ Mr. Carey.”
Maurie searched his memory, steeled his nerves, and spoke: “I sure feel it’s a privilege to know you.”
“Me, too,” said Carey, and then bit his lips.
The scorn of a superior intelligence was haughty in the face of big Maurie.
“Thank you,” Jac was saying. “Will you sit down?”
“Sure,” said Maurie, and plumped into the chair beside her. “Maybe you ain’t got the next dance taken. Can I have it? Thanks.”
He glared his triumph at Carey, who turned away, dark-eyed with envy.
The cold glance of Jac cut short Carrigan’s incipient grin.
“So-long,” he said, and turned on his heel.
He joined Dave Carey.