eyes, waving curled pink hands, abstractedly blowing bubbles. "An-i-ta Potter! I never saw anything so absolutely adorable! Did you ever see anything so perfectly darling? Yes, she was a perfect darling! Look at those fat cheeks! She's the image of you, Anita."
"Oh, my dear, no! She has Paul's eyes absolutely."
The dinners weren't so bad, for Joe was at them, to send her silent messages, to stroll home with along quiet evening streets, talking things over.
"Oh, Joe! I can't stand being bored this way much longer!"
"They want to be nice to you, darling."
"Oh, I know—but Joe! Don't they ever get tired of prohibition jokes? And all the dinners start in such an uproar from the cocktails, and then slowly die of ice water, and yet everyone keeps on screaming—that pumped-up gayety"
"Well, we can't sit around weeping silently."
"Why not? It wouldn't be any sadder, really."
"Last night didn't start noisily with cocktails."
"No, that was even worse. That butler with puffed alpaca sleeves, sighing down everybody's neck, and everything so rich and Christian. Do you know what we ladies did before you gentlemen joined us? We listened to the radio, and do you know what we heard? How to tell if you have heart disease, and then a talk on storage batteries."
"Evelyn, darling, you're a liar and I love you."
