Gwen looked at her, at me, at Yvonne again—not troubling to hide the fact that she was astonished. But not irritated.
I would have expected Yvonne to be embarrassed—who would not?
She wasn't. Her gray eyes met mine steadily.
"I hoped you'd call me today," she said. "When you didn't—I had dinner with dad. I got back after the theater—and I heard your radio go on. I finally decided to knock on your door. But when I unlocked the one on my side—I found yours open. I was just about to say boo! and ask for a drink. I'll be good and go quietly afterward."
She said it steadily, rapidly, so that I knew, and Gwen knew, she had prepared it.
"Mrs. Prentiss," I said, "Yvonne Prentiss—Miss Gwen Talyor."
Yvonne turned and held out her hand.
She was wearing a black dinner dress; black was certainly for her.
Gwen took her hand and kept it and said to me, "Does a beautiful brunette live on the other side?"
I laughed. "And a platinum blonde across the hall. Just below me lives—"