always considerate—and kind—and sweet. You are thoughtful in the real sense."
"To you perhaps, but to others, I'm hard," Howard replied. He looked at Ken, at his puzzled eyes and the lips which quivered in a half-framed question. "Let's drop this self-analysis. Let's drink some champagne."
Nothing in the champagne to upset a baby. No bitter taste, as of tequila or old-fashioneds, concocted at Frank and Jack's bar. It was silly to be bound up like a mummy in the past. Why not drink? Why exert self-control? The blinding sweep of strings in a tango vibrated through the room. The wine jiggled in his eyes. He watched Howard cross to a distant table.
"Day dreaming?" he heard a voice ask. "Or should I have said mooning?"
He looked up.
"Where's your belle?"
The round pink cheeks of Frankie.
Ken blinked. "Where's Howard?" Frankie asked.
"Over there … talking to Louis Sobol. How did you find us?"
"I followed you up here."
"How did you know we were here?"
"Jean Darling recalled that Howard likes Lido. He said to try it first. I did. Aren't you glad?"
Ken looked at the boy. "I'm always glad to see you, Frankie."
"Be careful, Ken; or people will be hearing you and saying that—
"That all is vanity?"
"That we are—like this and that."
"We aren't, though."
