Emily came in behind the cocktails.
Edward pretended not to see her for a moment, having a vague idea that this would make him more valuable to Emily. Emily took off her hat with boy-like indifference and, before hanging it on a peg, waved it intimately at Edward.
“Great Scott, look at these too darling crabs. Look, they’re supposed to show us where to sit. Oh dear, we’ve all sat down wrong. My crab says I’m supposed to be Mr. Herbert B. Undressed. No, as you were. It’s Herbert B. Weinhard.”
A guest called Bossy was explaining to Edward across the bosoms of two intervening ladies his misgivings about the future of the canning trade.
“Never mind,” continued Emily in a voice as clear as a flute. “I’m going to make my crab look as if it was called Herbert Undressed.”
She was drawing faces on Edward’s crabs. They were no longer Edward’s crabs. His cute notion was simply being made cuter by Emily.
“Make my crab look like me, Emily.”
“No, do mine first....”
“Make Edward’s look like Edward....”