Page:Glitter (1926).pdf/284

 "Look here," said Jock, "are you engaged to Burnholme or aren't you?"

"How do you like him?" evaded Cecily.

"Allright. Fine. Seems to be a good sort. Answer my question."

"What do you want to know for?"

"Why wouldn't I? You're like a little kid sister to me, you know."

"Oh," said Cecily.

Bill Burnholme and Yvonne glided past them, Yvonne's head a fiery blotch against the broad black shoulder. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?" Cecily breathed.

"Isn't she," echoed Jock absently. "Aren't you going to tell me, Cecily?"

Before she could reply the music died, with the sharp unmusical groan beloved of jazz bands, and Jock said hurriedly, "Listen here, Cecily: Yvonne and I do our stuff in just a minute. And listen, don't think—remember in a month from now I'll be doing something different—something a lot more to be proud of"

This was all he had time for. Bill and Yvonne joined them, and the foursome went back to its table, Jock with the conviction that he had sounded silly and accomplished nothing.

Ten minutes later, he and Yvonne were out on the floor alone.

The spotlight was extraordinarily bright that night. It beat upon him with a searing, intolerable lucidity. It lay in a circle around him, so that he reminded himself, ridiculously, of a valentine figurine glued upright on a white cardboard base. Beyond the spotlight there was gloom, and out of the gloom, wan faces, like enormous scattered blossoms. He saw Cecily's face and Bill's, blurry with distance, and he was full of an