She had always excused their vulgarity on the ground that they were at least cheerful, and that probably they were just as good as the people who frowned upon them. Their admiration was evident from the frequency with which they invited her opinion on the questions under discussion; and it was a relief to escape from the invalid air of home and from what she had convinced herself was Farley’s hostility.
Several times her fingers touched the stem of her wineglass, only to be withdrawn quickly. Copeland, sitting beside her, noticed her indecision and drew the glass toward her.
“Just one, for old times’ sake, Nan?”
“All right, Billy!”
She emptied her glass, and then, turning to Copeland, laid her fingers lightly across the rim.
“That’s all; not another drop!” she said in a low tone.
He laughed and held up his glass for inspection; he had barely touched his lips to it.
“I had only one cocktail and I haven’t taken any of this stuff,” he said with a glance that invited approval. “I can do it; you see I can do it! I can do anything for you, Nan!”
The furtive touch of his hand seemed to establish an understanding between them that they were spectators, not participants in the revel.
