“I think I agree with you.... I’m not sure,” she answered at last. “I guess no person can tell how he’s going to feel about, well, loving somebody who’s of another race, unless he actually runs up against it himself. I certainly believe negroes and whites ought to talk together, though, and try to understand each other more. There’s too much darn hate and meanness in this little world, as it is.”
“Yes, entirely too much,” he said, in an abstractedly weary way.
Helgin walked up and Blanche introduced him to Starling.
“Found your ideal yet, little gal?” he asked, grinning. “A studio-party’s an excellent place for such delusions.”
“’F I had, I wouldn’t tell you, old boy,” she answered impertinently. “You’d just answer ‘Nice li’l baby, all blind and deaf and everything.’”
“Ideals are out of fashion, Mr. Helgin,” Starling said. “They don’t seem to blend so well with synthetic gin, and the Charleston, and divorces at six for a dollar.”
Helgin countered with one of his bland ironies and then said: “The party’s beginning to break up, now. Are you ready to leave, Miss Palmer?”
“Would you mind if I saw Miss Palmer home?” Starling asked, bluntly, but in a soft voice. “I hope you won’t be irritated at my nerve.”
Helgin laughed.
“Of course not, if it’s agreeable to her,” he replied. “I never have any desire to interfere with blossoming romances.”