“Why?” She held out her glass to be filled
with a high-ball.
“Don’t drink any more,” he urged
her, frowning.
“Why not?”
“You’d be nicer—if you didn’t.”
Gloria caught suddenly the intended suggestion of
the remark, the atmosphere he was attempting to create.
She wanted to laugh—yet she realized that
there was nothing to laugh at. She had been enjoying
the evening, and she had no desire to go home—at
the same time it hurt her pride to be flirted with
on just that level.
“Pour me another drink,” she insisted.
“Please—”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” she cried
in exasperation.
“Very well.” He yielded with ill
grace.
Then his arm was about her again, and again she made
no protest. But when his pink cheek came close
she leaned away.
“You’re awfully sweet,” he said
with an aimless air.
She began to sing softly, wishing now that he would
take down his arm. Suddenly her eye fell on an
intimate scene across the room—Rachael and
Captain Wolf were engrossed in a long kiss. Gloria
shivered slightly—she knew not why....
Pink face approached again.
“You shouldn’t look at them,” he
whispered. Almost immediately his other arm was
around her ... his breath was on her cheek. Again
absurdity triumphed over disgust, and her laugh was
a weapon that needed no edge of words.
“Oh, I thought you were a sport,” he was
saying.
“What’s a sport?”
“Why, a person that likes to—to enjoy
life.”
“Is kissing you generally considered a joyful
affair?”
They were interrupted as Rachael and Captain Wolf
appeared suddenly before them.
“It’s late, Gloria,” said Rachael—she
was flushed and her hair was dishevelled. “You’d
better stay here all night.”
For an instant Gloria thought the officers were being
dismissed. Then she understood, and, understanding,
got to her feet as casually as she was able.
Uncomprehendingly Rachael continued:
“You can have the room just off this one.
I can lend you everything you need.”
Collins’s eyes implored her like a dog’s;
Captain Wolf’s arm had settled familiarly around
Rachael’s waist; they were waiting.
But the lure of promiscuity, colorful, various, labyrinthine,
and ever a little odorous and stale, had no call or
promise for Gloria. Had she so desired she would
have remained, without hesitation, without regret;
as it was she could face coolly the six hostile and
offended eyes that followed her out into the hall
with forced politeness and hollow words.
“He wasn’t even sport, enough to
try to take me home,” she thought in the taxi,
and then with a quick surge of resentment: “How
utterly common!”
