and that was when the blowsy Doyle woman had come up and Carly had had to leave. He had said as he pressed her, "See you soon" and she could hardly wait until it was daylight and he would telephone. He was so easy to be with, and he had thought the same people and Figente's pictures as funny as she did. The kind of a man she always had thought she'd meet in New York and fall in love with. A man who would protect her when she felt unsure about herself, like the way he'd smiled when she had to begin that awful dance because everyone was looking at her. A man who'd be fun to be with, a friend, and playmate—playmate but more. Love was a wonderful thing to give yourself to, like the feeling you had when hearing the theatre orchestra playing the love duets and you felt happy and like crying at the same time.
"Are you asleep, dearest?"
"No. That Figente invited me to come and see him. After I danced he went to bed and left the party go by itself. Maybe I was a showoff to dance."
"Oh no, darling, I think that was very nice. Especially for all those important people and Beman."
Chapter 17
FIRST THE WORST, SECOND THE SAME
Carly did not telephone. For two months she accompanied Lyle to other parties, to Piselli's exclusive speakeasy, or supper dances at the Hotel Athenée, where Scotch from Lyle's silver hip-flask had to be poured into coffee cups held beneath the damask tablecloth. Sometimes she thought she saw Carly but it never was. And then, after about six weeks, though she knew you mustn't mention another man to the man you're with, she could not help asking Lyle, casually she hoped, where Carly was. Lyle had said coldly, "No idea—Virginia, I suppose—excuse me a moment!" And to punish her left her sitting alone while he went to speak to friends of his own crowd a few tables away. So that was that. No more Carly. Now she would tell Lyle she couldn't go out every night after the show because she was missing too many lessons at Master's. After
