"Nonsense. Maybe you'll give me a rain check. Let's go."
Tipsy assured him that she bore no hard feelings, and he stroked her with real pleasure. It occurred to him that there was something pathetic about Margery's little caged parakeet, set beside this beautiful killing engine.
"You're quite a scientist," he remarked, nodding at the books.
"Only as a spectator," said Corinna. "I would have liked to get a degree in math, but we hadn't the money and I was needed to help in the restaurant." Her explanation was unresentful.
He helped her into her coat and they went down to his car. "Where are we going?" she asked.
"I know a Dutch place near Russian Hill," he told her. "Ever been there? No? Good. Dutch cuisine is badly underrated. It's fully comparable to the French, in its own way."
She fell silent. He stole a look at the Egyptian profile; it was grave again.
"Forgive me if I'm tactless," he said.
"You aren't. You're very kind to come and—What good would we do Bruce, sitting around with our faces dragging on the floor?"
"I thought as much myself," he ventured. "But then, I was only a friend."