Nan surveyed them defiantly and looked at her watch.
She felt that she had finally dismissed Billy, and her last word to him had left her elated. It might be worth while to wait, at any hazard, to ease his discomfiture, and to show the Kinneys and their friends that she had not cut them; and, moreover, she was unwilling to have them know how greatly her old freedom was curtailed. The time had passed quickly and she could not reach home before seven even if she left immediately. Miss Rankin had covered up her absences before and might do so again.
“Let me telephone and I’ll see how things are going.”
The nurse’s report was reassuring. Farley, who had rested badly for several nights, was sleeping. He might not waken for an hour—perhaps not for several hours. Miss Rankin volunteered to explain Nan’s absence if he should call for her.
“All right, Grace, you may a lay a plate for me!” she announced cheerfully. “But I must be on my way right after dinner. You understand that!”
“It’s great to see you on the good old cocktail route again, Nan!” declared Pickard. “We heard you’d taken the veil!”
The cocktails were passed before they went to the table; there were quarts for everybody, Grace assured them. The men had already fortified themselves downtown against any lack of an appetizer at the house. Mocking exclamations of surprise and alarm followed Nan’s rejection of her glass.
“That’s not fair, Nan!” they chorused, gathering about her. “You used to swallow six without blinking an eye.”
“She’s joined the crape-hangers for sure! I didn’t think it of our Nan!” mourned Pickard.