Brent?"
"The play man? Lord, no. I'm a plain business dub. He
wouldn't bother with me. You like that sort of man?"
"I want to get on the stage, if I can," was Susan's diplomatic reply.
"Well--let's have dinner first. I've ordered champagne, but if
you prefer something else----"
"Champagne is what I want. I hope it's very dry."
Howland's eyes gazed tenderly at her. "I do like a woman who
knows the difference between champagne and carbonated sirup.
I think you and I've got a lot of tastes in common. I like
eating--so do you. I like drinking--so do you. I like a good
time--so do you. You're a little bit thin for my taste, but
you'll fatten up. I wonder what makes your lips so pale."
"I'd hate to remind myself by telling you," said Susan.
The restaurant was filling. Most of the men and women were in
evening dress. Each arriving woman brought with her a new
exhibition of extravagance in costume, diffused a new variety
of powerful perfume. The orchestra in the balcony was playing
waltzes and the liveliest Hungarian music and the most sensuous
strains from Italy and France and Spain. And before her was
food!--food again!--not horrible stuff unfit for beasts, worse
than was fed to beasts, but human food--good things, well
cooked and well served. To have seen her, to have seen the
expression of her eyes, without knowing her history and without
having lived as she had lived, would have been to think her a
glutton.
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