Under the influence of the champagne, which he left her to drink by herself, the girl’s tongue was loosened; and, though he paid little attention to what she was saying, Gaymer learned before the end of dinner that she was confidential typist to an export merchant, that she lived at Tottenham and that she was at that moment supposed to be spending the night with another girl from the same office and going to a concert. The young Jew was book-keeper in a neighbouring office and had long desired to marry her.
“But I keep him at a distance,” she confided. “I want to have a look round before I settle down. No sprees then,” she added regretfully.
“Married life’s what you make it,” said Gaymer. “Come and dance.”
Dinner had put him in good humour, and he was now less contemptuously critical. Gracie had a certain elemental charm, holding herself well, walking well and, as she danced, melting into his arms until she seemed a part of him. The champagne had brought colour into her cheeks, and her eyes shone in ecstasy. The crash and jerk, the bleating and rumble of the band sent a thrill of dancing madness through her nerves, and at Gaymer’s touch she shivered and became still as though she were a bird and his hand had closed over her fluttering wings....
After a riot of rag-time the orchestra subsided into a waltz.
“If you—could care—for me,” she hummed, “as I—could care—for you-ou....”
“Don’t!” Gaymer snapped.
She was all right until she opened her mouth; but, when she spoke, there was commonness without depravity. He doubted whether she was clever enough to shake off her accent, her phrases, her devastating gentility. And, if she never spoke, there was little companionship in the adventure. Already she was giving him a foretaste of what their relations would be... mechanical, soulless, without intimacy or tenderness; they danced for ten minutes and then went back to their table in the gallery for a drink and a cigarette, then danced again. And, whenever the music stopped, he had to keep her from talking....
“I wonder what’s happened to Mr. Lewis?,” she murmured.
“Don’t bother about him... I say, Gracie, have you had enough of this? I’m as hot as hell in these thick clothes. Let’s get some air.”