"They aren't chiselers."
"Get away from me, and don't ever bother me again." She shoved him away, and forced through the dancers to find Ranna.
"I've been waiting for a dance, Lucy," said Carter Prell, catching her arm.
"Later. Did you see Ranna?"
"He's with Olive, they are having an esoteric conversation on love and art," said Olive's husband with a grimace. "Maybe you and I should have a drink."
"Not now," she said, wondering if the whole night would pass without a word with Paul Vermillion.
The nice Marqués towered above her. "I wish I could dance with you as the others do but I am very bad at it," he said. "To tell you the truth, I'd rather sit over there with you."
"Nothing could please me more."
"Are you enjoying the party?"
"Yes, now that I am with you."
He looked at her as other men did but with an additional undemanding friendliness that she liked. It was a relief to be with him after Lyle, and she told herself again that his coarse-skinned ugliness and old-fashioned politeness added a distinction lacking in more handsome men. He was a man to learn from. Better than Vermillion who always seemed to push you away just when you thought everything was going along fine. Simone was always between. Over there was Vida being taken in by Rad Welford. Vida knew about men in books but would have to be told about Rad.
"Nino." Simone came up—as though conjured by thought of her, Lucy thought. "Figente's protégé is to play for me some troubador songs and Spanish ones of Catalonia which you must hear."
"Catalonian songs are not truly Spanish!" he objected.
"Then you will know whether they are for me to sing."
"In that case we will come and listen," he said, including Lucy.
"No!" said Lucy. "I heard them before."
The agreeable young man who said he was the confidant of Senator-elect Lauter had to go and quiet the Senator's slobbering drunken son, and Horta Cornwallis grasped Lucy's arm as she passed on her way to Vermillion. "I hope you and I will be friends as we have so many in common."
