parquet floor was well concealed, and two glasses redly sticky suggested that Ted and Maude might have had a drink some days before. Clothes, obviously Maude's clothes, lay over chairs and divan. A dressing-gown of masculine cut was draped across the piano like a scarf.
"It's filthy," said Maude somewhat unnecessarily.
Dot and Eddie found seats. Maude flung her hat on the floor and herself on the divan.
"Be a cherub, Ted, and mix a cocktail," she said.
"What's the matter with you?" he returned. "Crippled?"
"You cute thing," Maude gurgled, "I could eat you up when you try to be gruff wif oos own ikkle Maudie."
Maude mixed the cocktail.
Eddie refused his glass. "Never use it," he explained.
"Mr. Collins suspects your private stock, Ted," said Maude.
Dot sipped experimentally at her drink. It was a golden shade and served in a thin-stemmed glass that shimmered with a dozen colors. Dot was disappointed at the bitter taste of the cocktail. It seemed sad that such a beautiful thing should taste so awful.
She looked at Maude. Her cocktail was gone, and Ted's was fast disappearing.
"Very good," he said to Maude.
Dot sighed regretfully as she relinquished the glass to the tray. She'd never be like Maude.
"What's the matter, honey?" Maude asked.
Dot was embarrassed. "I don't like it," she faltered.
Maude and Ted laughed. "Oh, go on," Maude said, "you'll get to like 'em." She took the glass and started toward Dot with it. "Here, drink this and you'll love the next one."
"I'm afraid I can't," Dot said.
"Oh, sure you can."
