swing on one, any one, anything to shatter that superior, simpering composure. Instead, I walked down the street and had a beer at the bar at the next Bal. The beer was not good and I had a worse cognac to take the taste out of my mouth. When I came back to the Bal there was a crowd on the floor and Georgette was dancing with the tall blond youth, who danced big-hippily, carrying his head on one side, his eyes lifted as he danced. As soon as the music stopped another one of them asked her to dance. She had been taken up by them. I knew then that they would all dance with her. They are like that.
I sat down at a table. Cohn was sitting there. Frances was dancing. Mrs. Braddocks brought up somebody and introduced him as Robert Prentiss. He was from New York by way of Chicago, and was a rising new novelist. He had some sort of an English accent. I asked him to have a drink.
“Thanks so much,” he said, “I’ve just had one.”
“Have another.”
“Thanks, I will then.”
We got the daughter of the house over and each had a fine à l’eau .
“You’re from Kansas City, they tell me,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Do you find Paris amusing?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
I was a little drunk. Not drunk in any positive sense but just enough to be careless.