“And I didn’t know!” He peered at her with what the adventitious but fascinated onlooker regarded as an oozy look. “You realize, don’t you, that you’ve turned into the most beautiful piece of stuff in two states?”
Lenore moved away from him and sat down. She said, “Nonsense!” She paused and went on, “Besides, you have seen me, or could have, when you were in town last winter—at the Semophore Hill Club Christmas party. Several places. Only—you were busy.”
That made him laugh, too. “Blondes?”
“Various shades,” Lenore answered.
Nora began to wonder what would not make him laugh or, at least, titter. He sat down very close to Lenore, offered her a cigarette, and put one, for himself, in some kind of holder. A gold one, extremely sissified. “I gave you up,” he said, “three years back because—”
“Because wouldn’t—give.”
“Still the same old Lenore.”
She nodded. “You bet. Untarnished. But with a gradually souring disposition perhaps.”
He shook his head in mock sorrow. “Naturellement,” he said, which Nora knew was French for “naturally.” Otherwise she didn’t know what he meant when he went on, “The end product of spinsterdom.”
“Are you going to be in River City long?”