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she appeared; her only thought was to get Anson away before her
mother saw him, and at the look in her eyes the cousin understood
too.
When Paula and Anson descended to the limousine they found
two men inside, both asleep; they were the men with whom he had
been drinking at the Yale Club, and they were also going to the party.
He had entirely forgotten their presence in the car. On the way to
Hempstead they awoke and sang. Some of the songs were rough, and
though Paula tried to reconcile herself to the fact that Anson had few
verbal inhibitions, her lips tightened with shame and distaste.
Back at the hotel the cousin, confused and agitated, considered
the incident, and then walked into Mrs. Legendre's bedroom, saying:
"Isn't he funny?"
"Who is funny?"
"Why – Mr.. Hunter. He seemed so funny."
Mrs. Legendre looked at her sharply.
"How is he funny?"
"Why, he said he was French. I didn't know he was French."
"That's absurd. You must have misunderstood." She smiled: "It
was a joke."
The cousin shook her head stubbornly.
"No. He said he was brought up in France. He said he couldn't
speak any English, and that's why he couldn't talk to me. And he
couldn't!"
Mrs. Legendre looked away with impatience just as the cousin
added thoughtfully, "Perhaps it was because he was so drunk," and
walked out of the room.
This curious report was true. Anson, finding his voice thick and
uncontrollable, had taken the unusual refuge of announcing that he
spoke no English. Years afterwards he used to tell that part of the
story, and he invariably communicated the uproarious laughter which
the memory aroused in him.
Five times in the next hour Mrs. Legendre tried to get
Hempstead on the phone. When she succeeded, there was a ten-
minute delay before she heard Paula's voice on the wire.
"Cousin Jo told me Anson was intoxicated,"
"Oh, no...."