"With me," Yvonne said. "I'll break my date. You can escort me to the most conspicuous place in town."
"You?" Paul took his first careful look at her. She undoubtedly satisfied him. But he was not altogether persuaded of the plan. It represented merely a new idea—and, as such, offered a small unexpected degree of optimism.
"I'd like it," Yvonne went on. "For a lot of reasons. I wasn't sure I wanted to keep my date. I think you're nice—even if terribly foolish. And Phil bailed me out of a tizzy the other night—so I could hardly do less for a nephew of his."
"What if I did it—acted blasé as hell—and Marcia was just relieved when she found out?"
"Then, Paul," she said, "nothing would have helped, anyhow."
You could see him grinding his jaw down on that one. He wanted Marcia. He was determined to get her back. Into what he regarded as his love had gone a good deal of unrecognized pride. Furthermore, he had undertaken to recover her by what he thought of as logical steps—ignoring his own hysterical condition—and unaware that his brand of logic did not, would not, could not apply in such a situation.
Yvonne knew that to interest men you talked about them. She started, indirectly. "Is he a good scientist?" she asked me.
"Terrific!"
I told her of his achievements in school; of his appointment. "He didn't quite make Saipan for the first bomb drop. But he was at Bikini. And he commutes to Eniwetok."
"I guess they're born," she said.