“Yes, thanks, I’m thirsty. I’ve been at the Gaiety, and theaters always make me dry.”
Bobby, as a rule, was not at a loss for conversation in such society as the present, but Marian’s beauty and style overawed him at first. As for her, she was mad with the spirit of dare-devilry and threw away all remaining sense of decency. She drank eagerly at the brandy-and-soda, soon handing the glass to Bobby to be replenished.
“Say when,” he said, holding up the tumbler and the spirit decanter.
“When!” said Marian, stopping him when he had poured out a stiff allowance, “and not too much water. And then you may mix quite a mild dose for yourself.”
She laughed gayly as she took the glass from him, and Mrs. Harding was not so engrossed in her companion’s talk as to fail noticing Marian’s wildness.
“Been dining too—eh, Maid Marian?” she asked.
“Yes, so I’m not hungry, only thirsty. Now, Bobby, amuse me.”
“What shall I do?”
“Talk, tell stories, anything except be serious. I daresay Ethel told you I was a serious young person, but I’m not. She don’t really know me.”
“Nor do I,” said Bobby; his eyes adding that he would like to do so.