bays in the wall of the building; others had been contrived with potted palms and oriental hangings.
Two couples trotted to the cacophony of piano, saxophone and drum ambushed at the end of the room.
Di fluttered gay and care-free fingers, "'Lo, people!" But Jello regarded the dancers more cautiously, especially the gray heads. The blond heads he did not doubt; they were party girls, paid for this entertainment and dependable. Art Slengel had assured him that the men would be strangers from out of town, but he put on his glasses to make sure. Over their partners' shoulders, they studied him; then they nodded, somewhat relieved. They were strangers to each other.
Di, having waited to witness this formality, fled into the refuge of a little room where five girls, four of whom she knew, prinked and powdered before the mirrors.
"'Lo, Di," three of them hailed.
"'Lo, everyone."
The number of girls here was no proof, Diana well knew, of the presence, now or prospectively, of an equivalent male population in the gentlemen's room; for the requirements of a business party were exactly contrary to the code of a merely social affair where extra men, or at least an even number, were essential. At a party for business, there must be no stag line; every man at every moment must be entertained; there must be extra girls to compete for them.
The girl whom Di knew, but who had not spoken to her, was peering at Di in her hand mirror. She was white-skinned, blue-eyed, blondined and with overstained finger nails.
