Page 404 - tender-is-the-night

right what they were saying—one thing was good for one
person, another for another. Yet it was a man’s world she
had overheard; going back to the house she became doubt-
ful again.
Dick and Tommy were on the terrace. She walked
through them and into the house, brought out a sketch pad
and began a head of Tommy.
‘Hands never idle—distaff flying,’ Dick said lightly. How
could he talk so trivially with the blood still drained down
from his cheeks so that the auburn lather of beard showed
red as his eyes? She turned to Tommy saying:
‘I can always do something. I used to have a nice active
little Polynesian ape and juggle him around for hours till
people began to make the most dismal rough jokes—‘
She kept her eyes resolutely away from Dick. Presently he
excused himself and went inside—she saw him pour him-
self two glasses of water, and she hardened further.
‘Nicole—‘ Tommy began but interrupted himself to clear
the harshness from his throat.
‘I’m going to get you some special camphor rub,’ she
suggested. ‘It’s American—Dick believes in it. I’ll be just a
minute.’
‘I must go really.’
Dick came out and sat down. ‘Believes in what?’ When
she returned with the jar neither of the men had moved,
though she gathered they had had some sort of excited con-
versation about nothing.
The chauffeur was at the door, with a bag containing
Tommy’s clothes of the night before. The sight of Tommy

404 Tender is the Night