She giggled again. Harvey put his arm around her and she made no effort to push him away. In spite of himself, Blake had to look at them. He couldn’t make up his mind what to do. If he started to go they would object, and insist on his staying. If he went back to the ballroom he would have to dance with Maria; he couldn’t face it. He sat still, being miserable. He tried to keep his eyes off the shadow that was Gin and Harvey, twined in each other’s arms, but there was no help for it. In the corridor made by the tonneaus of the cars, lined up in three straight rows, other people were pouring drinks and sitting close together. He heard the sounds; whisperings and laughter and soft chinking. Any evening at the Country Club it was the same. Why did they come all the way to Santa Fé to do it? He thought again—and again and again—of that hint Maria had given him about Teddy and Revelita. Teddy too? He could not believe it. Teddy, who painted so well and talked so well and was so impatient of all this; just as impatient as he himself had been. Teddy never mentioned it. Would he never understand the rest of the people in the world? Was there nothing for it but to go on alone, travelling by himself through life? He looked disgustedly at Gin, just as she came to a late realization of his mood, and pulled herself away from Harvey. “Where’s Teddy?” she asked, as casually as if she were continuing a conversation. “I want him. Harvey, go on and get him: you’re falling asleep.” Harvey stirred and shook his head. “I don’t want to. I’m sleepy.” “Oh, don’t be mean. Go and get him. I want to tell him something.” “I’ll get him,” said Blake. He leaped out, disregarding her protests, and went back to the ballroom, forgetting all about Maria until he reached the door. Then, in a panic, he hid behind a tall girl who was going in, and looked around fearfully before he started over to Teddy in the corner. Janie Peabody seized him as he walked by her. He was surprised, because Janie never noticed him any more than he noticed her. Now she was very cordial. She insisted on making him sit next to her, holding his arm and talking very seriously and incoherently. He knew that she was drunk. He remembered that it was one of the things the old ladies said when they sat against the wall at parties; Janie drinks too much. That Peabody girl ought to have more sense. If someone would persuade her to go to a sanatorium—so sad at her age.... He wondered how to get away, but he couldn’t think fast enough. She wanted to dance. Unhappily, he pulled her to her feet and started around the room. It was unutterably difficult. He couldn’t listen properly to the music, and she was unsteady and leaned heavily on him. When she began to sing he looked at the floor, and this naturally led to many collisions. He looked up again, desperately, and just then Janie decided that she was tired and slumped to the floor. She sat there, laughing.