‘No she doesn’t. I can shee. She won’t look at me. Doesn’t like me. You like me, don’t you, darling?’

‘Of course I do my sweet. Sophia!’

‘She thinksh I’m drunk. But I’m not.’

Harry kissed her glowing little face and whispered into her neck where dark bright curls clustered.

Fortunately she took it into her head to dance, and forgot about Sophia while she circled in Harry’s arms. Francis took Jane, Emily was too tired, after an evening’s dancing which was extremely hard work, to want to dance again, but everyone else danced cheerfully in a haze of smoke and the smell of a good many different kinds of alcohol. The party was decorous enough. Except for the presence of the little damson-creature, even Uncle Preston could not have called the party wild.

‘She’s one of the chorus from “Fifty Grand,”’ said Edward. ‘Nice kid, but being spoiled. She’s been taken up by Lukass. He’s the sort of swine who’d spoil anyone.’

‘I wonder she bothers to come here, when she could be at the Savoy or somewhere with Lukass,’ muttered Sophia, who knew the things that were said about the Brooklands ace.

‘She’s not so bad. Only got swollen head.’

‘Isn’t there any champagne?’ suddenly demanded Sally. ‘It makes me feel shick. I feel shick. It’s all your fault, darling. Oh, god, I feel so sick. It was that sandwish I had. It was a fish sandwish. Nasty.’

‘It wasn’t the sandwich at all; she was tight when she came in, little fool,’ observed Edward, who went to so many wild and rich parties during the week that he enjoyed a quiet and rather dowdy one, where he could relax, for a change. He liked leaning amiably on the sofa, watching people. Like Harry, he usually had to be in top gear. He enjoyed being in top, but god! it was a relief sometimes to slip into third. His tastes were simple.

Sally annoyed him; throwing her silly little weight about and insulting Sophia’s food. He wished she would shut up. He and Emily merely wanted to be quiet, drink a little gin for friendship’s sake, and go home. Why did Harry have to bring her?

‘Horrid, it was. Fish. Ugh! Made me feel sho shick.’

‘I really don’t think it could have been the sandwich,’ said Sophia judicially. ‘None of the rest of us feel sick, and we’ve been eating them all the evening.’ Her stark honesty compelled her to add, ‘Though I’m afraid they’re not very nice.’

Edward at once gallantly ate a sandwich and pronounced it very good. But it happened to be a sardine one.

Harry, with the incalculability of one who is rather tight, abruptly forsook Sally at the end of the dance and bore down upon Jane, who was much amused by his attentions; but Sally began to cry.

‘Feel so sick,’ moaned Sally. ‘Going to be sick.’ Harry took no notice.

Francis’s chivalry was roused. He went over to her and took her arm with grave politeness.