-stricken, how she, an Athenan, had managed to get entry to a
Dionysian revel--but his wonder only lasted for a second. Then he saw
the second and third faces, and he knew.

The second face belonged to an absolute stranger. He looked like an
oafish clod, even viewed objectively, and Forrester was making no
efforts in that direction. He had one arm around Gerda's waist and he
was grinning up at her, and, sideways, at Forrester with a look that
made them co-conspirators in what was certainly planned to be Gerda's
seduction. Forrester didn't like the idea. As a matter of fact, he hated
it more than he could possibly say.

But all he could do was trust to Gerda's own doubtless sterling good
sense. She couldn't possibly prefer a lout like her current escort to
good old Bill Forrester, could she?

On the other hand, she thought Bill Forrester was dead. She'd had to
think that; when he became Dionysus the Lesser, he couldn't just
disappear. He had to die officially--and, as far as Gerda knew, the
death wasn't just an official formality.

With Bill Forrester dead, then, had she turned to the oaf for comfort?
He didn't look very comforting, Forrester thought. He looked like a
damned outrage on the face of the Earth. Forrester disliked him on first
sight, and knew perfectly well that any future sights would only
increase the dislike.

It was the third face, though that explained everything.

The third face was as unmistakable as Gerda's, though in an entirely
different way. It was fleshy and pasty, and it belonged, of course, to
Gerda's lovable brother Ed. Forrester saw everything in one flash of
understanding.

Ed Symes obviously had enough pull to get his sister invited to the
Bacchanal. And from the looks of Gerda, he hadn't let the matter rest
there. She was holding a half-filled plastic mug of wine in one hand--a
mug with the picture of Dionysus stamped on it, which for some reason
increased Forrester's outrage--and she was trying her best to look as if
she were reveling.

From the looks of her, Ed had managed to get her about eight inches this
side of half-pickled. And from the horribly cheerful look on Ed's
countenance, he wasn't about to stop at the half-pickled mark, either.

Of course, from Ed's point of view--and Forrester told himself sternly
that he had to be fair about this whole thing--from Ed's point of view
there was nothing wrong in what was happening. He wanted to cheer Gerda
up (undoubtedly the news