She should have been exultantly happy, but she only felt a vast weariness still. Bill’s hand closed warmly over hers where it lay in her lap, and his eyes on her were ardent and eager. “Sure you were in there pitching. Nobody needs to tell me that, darling,” he said huskily, when Elaine had spoken of Cathy’s work. Cathy looked up and met Mark’s eyes. He seemed to know that, beneath the edge of the table, Bill’s hand held hers tightly; there was an odd look in Mark’s eyes that Cathy could not quite understand. Was he contemptuous of her because after all that had lain between the three of them, she was once more tremulous and confused by Bill’s nearness, by his tenderness, by his caress? Elaine said suddenly, almost sharply, her eyes following Mark’s long level look at Cathy, “Well, hadn’t we better be getting back to work? I’ve an idea they’ll be glad to have all the help they can get in town tonight.” Mark thrust back his chair and rose. “Right,” he said, and smiled as he looked at the fragile dinner gown, the upswept curls, the silver slippers.
