52.

Art Lyons was a tall, fairly young man and he seemed to take an instant liking to me. He sat down beside me and as though he attached no significance to the fact that I said not a word, chattered merrily on all subjects. Joe opened the package they had brought and revealed a quart of whisky and several bottles of ginger ale. He mixed four drinks and handed one of them to me, which I refused. Constance gave me an ugly look and inter- preting it as meaning that she was angry with me, I took the paper cup with the drink in it and sipped on it. One drink more was rapidly served but I lingered on my first one so didn't have to accept another. Soon Constance and the men were feeling rather exhilerated and abruptly, Joe put his arms around Constance and pulling her close, kissed her with a fervent, alcoholic kiss. Tentatively Art slipped his arms around my shoulders and I wiggled away uncomfortably. He shrugged his shoulders and took another drink. Fifteen minutes later he slid his arms around my shoulders again and again. I wriggled away. By this time Joe and Constance were locked tightly in each other's arms, lips pressed against lips and his hands were beginning to roam over her. Once, when they came up for air, she glanced at me and smiled mockingly, tauntingly. I writhed in impotence. What was she trying to do to me?

Arriving in Washington, we booked two rooms at the best hotel. I was still uncertain in my role, es- pecially now that I was out among many other prople and I always had the felling that I was being stared at and that people knew all about me. This feeling passed later on, after I had become so used to being a girl that it was not second, but first nature to me. Constance had me go everywhere with her, to carry her brief case with all her notes in it and it was then that I got to know what a remarkable business woman she was. She introduced me as her secretary wherever we went on business but in the confines of the hotel I was still her maid. It seemed as though Constance, having al- ready known of my distaste for work, was making me