So far the thing was acceptable enough. Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. She could tell it was new territory for him and he might lose the nerve to take them off himself, without the aid of drink. This way there will be not so much shame, and the vicomte will let them remain. “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. Spit of your mother. Jack had well-nigh fallen too.
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