Page 91 - tender-is-the-night

She liked the straight dark hair brushed back until it met
some sort of natural cascade that took care of it— from time
to time it eased with a jaunty slant over the corner of her
temple, until it was almost in her eye when she tossed her
head and caused it to fall sleek into place once more.
‘We’ll turn in early to-night, Abe, after this drink.’
Mary’s voice was light but it held a little flicker of anxiety.
‘You don’t want to be poured on the boat.’
‘It’s pretty late now,’ Dick said. ‘We’d all better go.’
The noble dignity of Abe’s face took on a certain stub-
bornness, and he remarked with determination:
‘Oh, no.’ He paused gravely. ‘Oh, no, not yet. We’ll have
another bottle of champagne.’
‘No more for me,’ said Dick.
‘It’s Rosemary I’m thinking of. She’s a natural alcohol-
ic—keeps a bottle of gin in the bathroom and all that—her
mother told me.’
He emptied what was left of the first bottle into Rose-
mary’s glass. She had made herself quite sick the first day
in Paris with quarts of lemonade; after that she had taken
nothing with them but now she raised the champagne and
drank at it.
‘But what’s this?’ exclaimed Dick. ‘You told me you didn’t
drink.’
‘I didn’t say I was never going to.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘I’m just going to drink this one glass.’ She felt some ne-
cessity for it. Dick drank, not too much, but he drank, and
perhaps it would bring her closer to him, be a part of the

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