When they reached Paris Nicole was too tired to go on to the grand illumination at the Decorative¹ Art Exposition as they had planned. They left her at the Hotel Roi George, and as she disappeared between the intersecting planes made by lobby lights of the glass doors, Rosemary’s oppression lifted. Nicole was a force — not necessarily well disposed or predictable like her mother — an incalculable force. Rosemary was somewhat afraid of her.

At eleven she sat with Dick and the Norths at a houseboat café just opened on the Seine. The river shimmered² with lights from the bridges and cradled many cold moons. On Sundays sometimes when Rosemary and her mother had lived in Paris they had taken the little steamer up to Suresnes and talked about plans for the future. They had little money but Mrs. Speers was so sure of Rosemary’s beauty and had implanted in her so much ambition, that she was willing to gamble the money on “advantages”; Rosemary in turn was to repay her mother when she got her start . . . .

Since reaching Paris Abe North had had a thin vinous fur over him; his eyes were bloodshot from sun and wine. Rosemary realized for the first time that he was always stopping in places to get a drink, and she wondered how Mary North liked it. Mary was quiet, so quiet save for her frequent laughter that Rosemary had learned little about her. She liked the straight dark hair brushed back until it met some sort of natural cascade³ that took care of it — from time to time it eased with a jaunty⁴ slant⁵ over the corner of her temple, until it was almost in her eye when she tossed her head and caused it to fall sleek⁶ into place once more.

“We’ll turn in early to-night, Abe, after this drink.” Mary’s voice was light but it held a little flicker⁷ of anxiety. “You don’t want to be poured on the boat.”

“It’s pretty late now,” Dick said. “We’d all better go.”

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