Dysart stared, took the offered hand, hesitated, started to speak, thought better of it, made a characteristically graceful obeisance, and an excellent exit, all things considered.
Geraldine drew a deep breath, moved forward through the flower-set dimness a step or two, halted, and, as Mallett came up, passed her arm through his.
"Duane," she said, "the champagne has gone to my head."
"Nonsense!"
"It has! My cheeks are queer—the skin fits too tight. My legs don't belong to me—but they'll do."
She laughed and turned toward him; her feverish breath touched his cheek.
"My first dinner! Isn't it disgraceful? But how could I know?"
"You mustn't let it scare you."
"It doesn't. I don't care. I knew something would go wrong. I—the truth is, that I don't know how to act—how to accept my liberty. I don't know how to use it. I'm a perfect fool.... Do you think Kathleen will notice this? Isn't it terrible! She never dreamed I would touch any wine. Do I look—queer?"
"No. It isn't so, anyway—and you'll simply lean on me——"