“No, really. It ought to be one of the first things into the hope chest.” There was a disgusted silence. She finished dressing, though one of her stockings had a run and it took a long time to find another pair. She felt jumpy, and it wasn’t nearly seven, when Harvey was to call for her. Swishing into the living room, she picked up a “Photoplay” and tried to settle down, but she kept thinking of Flo. Flo was smoking and reading and looking very determined. “You’re all dressed up too,” Gin said at last, trying to ignore the chill in the room. She thought that she sounded much too bright and conciliatory, but something had to be done. “What’s on?” “Beetie wants me to come up and play bridge,” Flo said. “I don’t know who else is going to be there—one is Russell somebody, the new real estate man—but I didn’t want to take chances on looking tacky.” There now: things were more comfortable. Gin turned back to her magazine in peace. Harvey was five minutes early, and in a jovial mood. The door was open, but he rang the shrill bell and called, “Hello, hello!” When he saw Flo he calmed down a little; he never seemed to like her. Gin was always nervous when they had to talk to each other; they both acted too polite. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told Flo so much about him. Flo was a prude. Now she put on her coat and hurried him out as fast as she could. “What’s new?” asked Harvey. He turned off on the Vegas road and speeded up. “Oh, nothing, I think they’ll send me to Albuquerque tomorrow: that means I’ll stay down overnight to meet the morning trains. I hope it won’t be too hot to sleep.” “Overnight? I hope you don’t go. The Summerses are throwing a party tomorrow night and told me to bring you.” “Oh, I don’t mind missing it. I get bored at those parties. The same old jokes and the same old people getting tight. Now where are we going?” “Pecos,” he said. “I feel like having a steak. Do you mind?” “Nope. Go ahead.”