"Reminds me of a Liverpool crib 'house," said Bowler, lapsing into stage Cockney. "A bit of a 'eat on and we'd cook each other."
They drank. Suddenly Ken recalled that Howard would be present by now. "We ought to go to the Parsonage," he said.
"I know … Vee will be there."
Ken, shocked, said: "Of course."
"Of course, Auntie Eulalie," Bowler mocked, "he's cheating."
"Meaning what?"
"I'm in the know. Did you ever hear of Chick De Vaughn?"
"No."
"Chorus boy. He'll be here, tootsie."
Ken drank.
The party was not a frost. Even the Farraguts unbent. Charades at first. Followed by champagne. And a very tall gentleman—"Ambassador from the Court of St. James' to the President of the United States," someone said.
Ken was drunk. He teetered visibly. He saw Howard. Howard was alone, standing in a corner of the chaste library, a wide wine glass in his hand. He put the wine aside as Ken entered.
"Where were you at curtain time?"
"On stage."
"I was delayed," Howard said.
Ken caught his hand. "If I knew my own mind I would say this," he spoke with enormous seriousness. "Howard, I shall quit the show on Monday. You don't need me. You won't miss me."
