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"I wish I could tell you, Clay," she said, in her low, slightly
husky voice, "how very, very much I admire you. You're pretty much
of a man, you know. And - there aren't such a lot of them."
For an uneasy moment he thought she was going to kiss him. But she
let her hands fall, and smiling faintly, led the way downstairs.
Once down, however, she voiced the under lying thought in her mind.
"If he comes out, Clay, he'll never forgive me, probably. And if
he is - if he doesn't, I'll never forgive myself. So I'm damned
either way."
But ten minutes later, with a man on either side of her, she was
sitting at the piano with a cigaret tucked behind her ear, looking
distractingly pretty and very gay and singing a slightly indecorous
but very witty little French song.
Clayton Spencer, cutting in on the second rubber, wondered which
of the many he knew was the real Audrey. He wondered if Chris had
not married, for instance, the girl at the piano, only to find she
was the woman upstairs.


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