The feeling passed like a bird's shadow.
"What were you doing all evening?" she asked. "How come you're up so
late? Work?"
I thought of telling her--telling her the truth. Thought of it hard and
seriously. "Out with a dame," I said, which was not what I meant by the
truth. "A wife. A pretty package of all the quality advertising, from
Pasadena, who had caught her hubby in flagrante with a gent--and fled.
Protesting too much, if you understand."
"Half the girls in the country--if they had the nerve--!"
"A latent thing. In maturity, according to the psychologists, it
becomes the psychological stuff by which we understand and appreciate
our own sex."
"And it does, too."
"If you say so, it must be right, Hat."
"There--you are damned tooting!" She looked at me. "So you took her
out--?"
"Rumbaing. I've got good at it--since I knew you."
"Really good?"
"Good enough to please the Cuban girls. So we danced. And I brought her
back to the hotel--and turned her loose."
"Nice guy!"
"I wanted her to exercise her mind. After all--I only met her at
lunch--and she's already moved up on my floor, next door."
"You should change hotels, then."
"Too lazy. Too busy. And I can deal with her. Spoiled--and too
bad--because the guy she left sounds okay. I wish I could help her
out. Taking--what they call--advantage of her, probably wouldn't.
And you can't re-do a person's attitude and background in a few
days--especially with a serial to correct. Usually requires years, and
a good analyst--"
"Another wife--to be hated."
"By you?"