Hardly had the Englishman departed--hardly had his wife commenced to
make slushing sounds with the cream sauce on her fish--hardly had
I dried my tears--when the corner of the eye opposite the one that
had caught sight of the teetering tray drew my attention in its new
direction.
This was toward the bar.
Here Mrs. Doffin was sitting at her regular table.
She had been sitting there, lunch and dinner, when I had first entered
the Knight's Bar in 1937. A tall, narrow woman with dyed red hair, who
was given to wearing witches' hats--such hats as women wore in Merlin's
day--round and pointed. A stovepipe of a woman with a face on which a
bleached fuzz grew, and eyes that resembled spoon-backs.
Year in, year out, the four seasons through, Mrs. Doffin had five
Martinis for lunch, five for dinner, five in the evening after dinner,
and refreshments in her room, between-times. Some ten million dollars
lay to her account in various banks, I understood, but, since the death
of her husband in 1932, she had devoted herself entirely to one form of
enjoyment, if the pointed hats be excepted.
Never soused, noisy, or shot--she was never remotely sober. Sometimes,
late at night, if you came into the bar, you would see her lips move
as she communed voicelessly with whatever shades or hallucinations
accompanied the thirteenth or fourteenth Martini. Occasionally, in a
moment of clarity, she would recognize this person or that--a waiter,
the manager, Ricky, myself. She would nod regally then, wish you
good morning, afternoon, or evening--approximately according to the
time--and flick her fingers flirtatiously.
She never bothered anybody.
She was not bothering anybody now.
She was sitting at her regular table, wearing a bright, vacant smile,
and stuffing matches into her nose.
She had placed twenty or thirty when I spotted her.
She picked up another and delicately inserted it, pressing it up until
its pink tip came even with the rest.
"Curious," I said.
Marcia and Paul craned their necks. They watched awhile.
"I wonder how many it will hold," Paul said.
"Another half dozen, I should think. She has a bit more room on the
right side."
"Does she light them when she gets a snoot full? Make quite a firework."
"It's new," I answered. "First variation in ages."
"Somebody should stop her!" Marcia said urgently.