“I’m trying to,” she laughed.
“Oh, sure. I mean——” But what he meant seemed to expire on his heavy lips as though lack of vocabulary, or perhaps of assurance, left him dumb for the moment.
She wondered why Frank didn’t arrive. Coffee was now to be served in the lounge, which was part library, part living-room.
Eris understood she was to rise: Smull joined her with his familiar arm taking possession of hers. His large, hot hand made her a little uncomfortable and she was glad to free her bare arm and retire with her coffee to a solitary arm-chair.
The grave-faced servant seemed to know what to bring to Mr. Smull in addition to the frozen mint offered to Eris—and smilingly declined.
After the grave one had retired with the empty coffee cups and had closed the folding glass doors, Eris looked enquiringly at Mr. Smull, awaiting the broaching of what most closely concerned her.
But Smull, half draining his frosted glass, assumed a familiarity almost boisterous.
“See here, Eris, you’re not going to get on unless you’re a good fellow. You’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t learn to keep up your end.”
“If you mean cocktails and champagne,” she said, laughing, “I can’t help not liking them, can I?”
“Certainly you can. Once you get the first glass down you’ll begin to like it. Come on, Eris! Show your pep. I’ll have Harvey bring you some champagne——”