"Phoebe's great stuff," confided Sloane, sotto voce.
"I'm only going to stay half an hour," Amory said sternly. He wondered if it sounded priggish.
"Hell y' say," protested Sloane. "We're here now—don't let's rush."
"I don't like this place," Amory said sulkily, "and I don't want any food."
Phoebe reappeared with sandwiches, brandy bottle, siphon, and four glasses.
"Amory, pour 'em out," she said, "and we'll drink to Fred Sloane, who has a rare, distinguished edge."
"Yes," said Axia, coming in, "and Amory. I like Amory." She sat down beside him and laid her yellow head on his shoulder.
"I'll pour," said Sloane; "you use siphon, Phoebe."
They filled the tray with glasses.
"Ready, here she goes!"
Amory hesitated, glass in hand.
There was a minute while temptation crept over him li
