Sparkshower at least had had the gumption to get up and then stand at the fringes of the floor,  chatting with a succession of money-flush young studs with popped collars. Ebonshield had preferred to sit at the outside edge of the booth, from which she could bat her eyelashes -- and bat-wings -- to tantalize some colt at a distance, then covertly watch them struggle through the crowd to have a chat with her. Glamerspear was chatty the whole night, and the Royal Engineer got ear-fulls about her life. Honour had given up her fair share of details, too, and so had he.