The man just come from England looked at his sister. She had direct, diamond-shaped eyes, with dark fringes, like her mother’s. Dark hair that fell to the nape of her neck in a triumph of sumptuous grooming. She was wearing a blue dress. She was alive with interest and the presumption of understanding. “I’m not trying to build up any suspense, Sarah,” he answered slowly. “The bombs do that, without assistance. I’m just trying to say—without having to, but I guess I do—that I don’t want to talk about bombings. Really, I don’t. Nothing to say you haven’t read a hundred times, for one thing.
And not in the mood, for another. I’m glad to be back, hideously glad.” He looked at his wrist watch. “And if somebody’ll drive me—since I’m not positive I could get one of these new cars started, even—I’ll run over to see Corinth.”
His mother gasped. “But you can’t, dear! You simply can’t! It’s four, now—”
“I know. And old man Corinth may go home by five—”
She paid no attention. “—and at half-past the people will begin to stream in. Simply stream! They’re dying to see you!”
“People? What people?”
“Why, the people I invited for cocktails! I must have asked a hundred. Dinner isn’t till nine—on account of it. And we’ll have to change, because we’re going to the club for it. An intime little crowd. I promised you’d be here at four-thirty!”
Jimmie smiled again, differently. “Sorry I won’t then. I’ll duck back as fast as I can after I talk to Corinth, though. Ought not to take forever.”
Mrs. Bailey’s diamond-shaped eyes narrowed. A faint flush showed in her cheeks.
“Why, dear, it’s quite impossible for you to go over to the factory today. I’m sure Mr. Corinth doesn’t expect you, because Susie Corinth is coming here for cocktails and I told her to bring him.”