'Oh, I'm all right,' said Victoria vaguely. Then with an affectation of ease. 'Hot, isn't it?'
'Ra-ther,' said the man. 'Had your supper?'
'No,' said Victoria, 'I don't want any.'
'Now, come, really that's too bad of you. Thought we were going to have a nice little family party and you're off your feed.'
'I'm sorry,' said Victoria smiling. 'I had dinner only two hours ago.' This man was not very attractive; there was something forced in his ease.
'Well, have a drink with me,' he said.
'What's yours?' asked Victoria. That was an inspiration. The plunge braced her like a cold bath. The man laughed.
'Pop, of course. Unless you prefer a Pernot. You know "absinthe makes the . . ."' He stopped and laughed again. Victoria did likewise without understanding him. She saw that the other women laughed when men did.
They filled their glasses. Victoria liked champagne. She watched the little bubbles rise, and drank the glass down. It was soft and warm. How strong she felt suddenly. The conversation did not flag. The man was leaning towards her across the table, talking quickly. He punctuated every joke with a high laugh.
'Oh, I say, give us a chance,' floated from the next table. Victoria looked. It was one of the English girls. She was propped up on one elbow on the table; her legs were crossed showing a long slim limb and slender ankle in a white open work stocking. A man in evening dress with a foreign looking dark face was caressing her bare arm.