“There!” she said. “Thank you, ever so much. Quarter of seven? Forty-five minutes to dress! Just shoot right along home now. Would you mind driving over to the boulevard and going in that way? The air certainly feels good.”
“Nothing would please me more,” he said, giving her a quick inspection as they passed under the lights at a cross-street. She was staring straight ahead, looking singularly young as she lay back with her hands clasped in her lap.
“Constance was furious!” she said suddenly. “Well, I suppose she had a right to be. I had no business getting lit.”
“Well, strictly speaking, you shouldn’t do it,” he said. It was not the time nor place and he was not the proper person to lecture her upon her delinquencies. But he had not been displeased that she chose him to take her home, even though the choice was only a whim.
“You must think me horrid! This is the second time you’ve seen me teed up too high.”
“I’ve seen a lot of other people teed up much higher! You’re perfectly all right now?”
“Absolutely! That coffee fixed me; I’m beginning to feel quite bully. I can go home now and jump into my joy rags and nobody will ever be the wiser. This is an old folks’ party, but Dada always wants to exhibit me when he feeds the nobility—can you see me?”
Her low laugh was entirely reassuring as to her sobriety, and he was satisfied that she would be able to give a good account of herself at her father’s table.
“Just leave the car on the drive,” she said as they reached the house. “Maybe I can crawl up to my room without Dada knowing I’m late. I’m a selfish little brute—to be leaving you here stranded! Well, thanks awfully!”
He walked with her to the entrance and she was taking out her key when Mills, in his evening clothes, opened the door.