“Right.”
When Duff wakened, it was after ten. He leaped guiltily out of bed and took a shower. Then he tiptoed downstairs and learned from Mrs. Yates that the precaution hadn’t been wasted: Eleanor was still sleeping.
“A whole bunch of people drove her home last night around three,” she said. “This being Queen is bad for girls, Duff. I thought I’d brought up Eleanor so nothing in the world could turn her head. But with everybody in the city at her feet — with dates every second and things to do and all the clothes and the photographs! I’d hate it if—”
“If what, Mrs. Yates?”
“Oh, if she got glamour-struck. Thought she could get in movies. Anything like that.
Eleanor’s actually serious — and a simple person. A homebody. If she got yearning to be rich and famous and all that, she could make a wrong marriage! Even if she didn’t try Hollywood.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. She’s level-headed. And I don’t believe it hurts a girl to be Cinderella once in a lifetime. Something to remember.”
“If she doesn’t develop a prince complex! Yes.”
The doorbell rang and Duff answered it.
Higgins was standing there, smiling. “Hi, Bogan.”