"You're not my brother!" she said. "I couldn't feel the way I — " She stopped, horrified.
In the silence the beat of the distant drums came up from the assembly room.
"Oh, Brat, I'm sorry! I didn't mean that! I think I must have drunk too much." She began to sob. "Oh, Brat, I'm sorry!" She gathered up her bag from the table and stumbled from the dim balcony into the buffet room. "I'll go and lie down and get sober."
Brat let her go and sought counsel in the bar. There was some sort of stunt in the assembly room at midnight, and the bar was deserted except for Simon, all by himself with a bottle of champagne at a table in the far corner.
"Ah! My big brother," said Simon. "Are you not interested in the lottery drawing? Have a drink."
"Thanks. I'll buy my own."
He bought a drink at the bar and carried it down the long room to Simon's table.
"I suppose lottery odds are too long for you," Simon said. "You want the table rigged before you bet."
Brat ignored that. "I haven't had a chance of congratulating you on your win with Timber."
"I don't need praise from you."