The waiter who served Madelaine and her escort asked about wine. Gordon raised an inquiring eyebrow. Madelaine named her preference. Gordon ordered an elaborate dinner but no liquor—for himself.
“What?” the astonished girl exclaimed.
Gordon laughed as he slid the big menu carefully under the base of the lamp.
“I’ve had enough of that stuff in the past—enough to last me all the rest of my life. It’s time I let it alone, Madge. Besides, I don’t feel I can afford it. Oh, I don’t mean the cost in money. I’m swinging a big thing, Madge, and I can’t afford a muddled head.”
A queer thrill burned at the roots of the girl’s fine hair.
“Well, you have changed, Gordon! I’ll give you credit!”
“You’re responsible, Madge. If you hadn’t given me an incentive, I’d still be blowing around western Massachusetts dodging traffic cops and breaking glass. You know that, don’t you, dear?”
He reached his hands across the small table and covered her own.
“Don’t, Gord! Not here!”
“Don’t you, Madge?”