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. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. “Is it okay if I go to the Junior Prom with John Diedermayer?” She asked Cathy in a low voice. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. “It is a hateful story.
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