Compromising with events time moves along.
The two officers were captains of the popular craft,
machine gunnery. At dinner they referred to themselves
with conscious boredom as members of the “Suicide
Club”—in those days every recondite
branch of the service referred to itself as the Suicide
Club. One of the captains—Rachael’s
captain, Gloria observed—was a tall horsy
man of thirty with a pleasant mustache and ugly teeth.
The other, Captain Collins, was chubby, pink-faced,
and inclined to laugh with abandon every time he caught
Gloria’s eye. He took an immediate fancy
to her, and throughout dinner showered her with inane
compliments. With her second glass of champagne
Gloria decided that for the first time in months she
was thoroughly enjoying herself.
After dinner it was suggested that they all go somewhere
and dance. The two officers supplied themselves
with bottles of liquor from Rachael’s sideboard—a
law forbade service to the military—and
so equipped they went through innumerable fox trots
in several glittering caravanseries along Broadway,
faithfully alternating partners—while Gloria
became more and more uproarious and more and more
amusing to the pink-faced captain, who seldom bothered
to remove his genial smile at all.
At eleven o’clock to her great surprise she
was in the minority for staying out. The others
wanted to return to Rachael’s apartment—to
get some more liquor, they said. Gloria argued
persistently that Captain Collins’s flask was
half full—she had just seen it—then
catching Rachael’s eye she received an unmistakable
wink. She deduced, confusedly, that her hostess
wanted to get rid of the officers and assented to
being bundled into a taxicab outside.
Captain Wolf sat on the left with Rachael on his knees.
Captain Collins sat in the middle, and as he settled
himself he slipped his arm about Gloria’s shoulder.
It rested there lifelessly for a moment and then tightened
like a vise. He leaned over her.
“You’re awfully pretty,” he whispered.
“Thank you kindly, sir.” She was
neither pleased nor annoyed. Before Anthony came
so many arms had done likewise that it had become little
more than a gesture, sentimental but without significance.
Up in Rachael’s long front room a low fire and
two lamps shaded with orange silk gave all the light,
so that the corners were full of deep and somnolent
shadows. The hostess, moving about in a dark-figured
gown of loose chiffon, seemed to accentuate the already
sensuous atmosphere. For a while they were all
four together, tasting the sandwiches that waited
on the tea table—then Gloria found herself
alone with Captain Collins on the fireside lounge;
Rachael and Captain Wolf had withdrawn to the other
side of the room, where they were conversing in subdued
voices.
“I wish you weren’t married,” said
Collins, his face a ludicrous travesty of “in
all seriousness.”
