The reception in honor of the little company of French tragedians, at
which almost the whole of the English stage and a sprinkling of society
people were present, was a complete success. Louise made a charming
hostess, and Sir Edward more than ever justified his reputation for
saying the right thing to the right person at the right moment. The
rooms were crowded with throngs of distinguished people, who all seemed
to have plenty to say to one another.
The only person, perhaps, who found himself curiously ill at ease was
John. He heard nothing but French on all sides of him--a language which
he read with some facility, but which he spoke like a schoolboy. He had
been wandering about for more than an hour before Louise discovered him.
She at once left her place and crossed the room to where he was standing
by the wall.
"Cheer up!" she begged, with a delightful smile. "I am afraid that you
are being bored to death. Will you not come and be presented to our
guests?"
"For goodness' sake, no!" John implored. "I have never seen one of them
act, and my French is appalling. I am all right, dear. It's quite enough
pleasure to see you looking so beautiful, and to think that I am going
to be allowed to drive you home afterward."
Louise looked into a neighboring mirror, and gazed critically at her own
reflected image. The lines of her figure, fine and subtle, seemed
traced by the finger of some great sculptor underneath her faultlessly
made white-satin gown. She studied her white neck and shoulders and her
perfectly shaped head, seeking everywhere for some detail with which an
impartial critic might find fault.
She had a curious feeling that at that precise moment she had reached
the zenith of her power and her charm. Her audience at the theater had
been wonderfully sympathetic, had responded with rare appreciation to
every turn of her voice, to every movement and gesture. The compliments,
too, which she had been receiving from the crowds who had bent over her
fingers that night had been no idle words. Many distinguished men had
looked at her with a light in their eyes which women understand so
well--a light questioning yet respectful, which provokes yet begs for
something in the way of response.
She was conscious, acutely conscious, of the atmosphere she had created
around her. She was glorying in the subtle outward signs of it. She was
in love with herself; in love, too, with this delightful new feeling of
loving. It would have given her more joy than anything else in the
world, in that moment of her triumph, to have passed her arm through
John's, to have led him up to them all, and to have said:
"After all, you see, I am a very simple sort of woman. I have done just
the sort of simple thing that other women do, and I am glad of it--very
glad and very happy!"
Her lips moved to the music of her thoughts. John leaned toward her.
"Did you say anything?" he asked.
"You dear stupid, of course I did not! Or if I did, it was just one of
those little whispers to oneself which mean nothing, yet which count for
so much. Can I not do anything to make you enjoy yourself more? I shall
have to go back to my guests now. We are expecting a royal personage,
and those two dears who keep so close to my side do not speak a word of
English."
"Please go back, dear," John begged promptly. "It was nice of you to
come at all. And here's Sophy at last, thank goodness! Now I am all
right."
She laid her fingers upon his arm.
"You must take me back to my place," she said. "Then you can go and talk
nonsense to Sophy. I won't even ask you what she said when you told her
the news. I suppose you did tell her?"
"Of course!"
She glanced at him swiftly. His reply had sounded a little lame; but
they were back in the crowd now, and she dismissed him with a little
nod. He made his way quickly to the spot where he had seen Sophy. To his
disappointment, she had disappeared. Graillot, however, came up and
seized him by the arm.
"Still playing the moth, my young friend?" he exclaimed. "Aren't the
wings sufficiently burned yet?"
"I am afraid it's become a permanent role," John replied, as the two men
shook hands. "Where have you been all these weeks, and why haven't you
been to see me?"
"Paris, my dear young friend--Paris and life! Now I am back again--I am
not sure that I know why. I came over with these French people, to see
them start their theater. Forgive me, I have not paid my respects to our
hostess. We shall meet again presently."
He strolled off, and a few minutes later John found Sophy.
"How late you are!" he grumbled.
"I couldn't help it," she answered. "This is the only evening dress I
possess at present, and I had to mend it before it was decent to come
out in. Why are you wandering about alone? Hasn't Louise been kind to
you?"
"She has been charming," John declared promptly, "but she is surrounded
with all sorts of people I don't know. I can't help her. For one thing,
my French is absurd. Then they are all talking about things which I
don't understand in the least."
Sophy remained silent for a moment. Then she took John's arm and led him
to the buffet.
"Give me an ice and a cigarette, will you, please? You are a dear,
impractical person, but you are as much out of this world as a human
being well could be!"
John waited upon her without any further remark. The Prince of Seyre,
passing through, bowed to them. John looked after his retreating figure.
An irresistible impulse seized him.
"Sophy," he asked, sitting down by her side, "tell me, why have the
prince and Louise always been such great friends?"
Sophy looked steadfastly at her ice.
"I suppose because the prince is a very clever and cultivated person,"
she said. "He has been of great assistance to Louise several times. It
was he who financed Miles Faraday when he put on this play of
Graillot's. Graillot hasn't a penny, you know, and poor Miles was almost
broke after three failures."
"That was just an investment," John remarked irritably. "He will get his
money back again."
"Of course," Sophy agreed. "I think the prince generally manages to get
value for what he does in life."
"You don't think Louise ever thought of caring for him, do you?" John
persisted.
Sophy paused until she had lit a cigarette. The expression in her face,
when she looked up at John, irritated him vaguely. It was as if she were
talking to a child.
"I think," she said, "you had better ask Louise that question yourself,
don't you?"
* * * * *
He asked it an hour or so later, when at last the party of guests had
taken their leave, and, somewhat to the well-bred surprise of the one or
two friends who lingered, Louise had beckoned to John to take her out to
her car. Her hand had sought his at once, her head rested a little
wearily but very contentedly upon his shoulder.
"Louise dear," he began, "I asked Sophy a question to-night which I
ought to have asked you. Quite properly, she told me so."
"Nice little soul, Sophy!" Louise murmured. "What was it, John?"
"Once or twice I have wondered," he went on, "whether you have ever
cared in any sort of way, or come near to caring, for the Prince of
Seyre?"
For a moment she made no movement. Then she turned her head and looked
at him. The sleepy content had gone from her eyes.
"Why do you ask?"
"Isn't it quite a natural question from a jealous man who believes that
every one who sees you must be in love with you? You have seen a great
deal of the prince, haven't you, in the last few years? He understands
your art. There are many things that you and he have in common."
Louise was looking out of the window at the thin stream of people still
passing along Piccadilly. She seemed suddenly to have become only the
shadow of her former brilliant self.
"I think that once--perhaps twice," she confessed, "I came very near to
caring for him."
"And now?"
"And now," she repeated, suddenly gripping John's hands, "I tell you
that I am very much nearer hating him. So much for the prince! In ten
minutes we shall be at home, and you are such a dear stupid about coming
in. You must try to say all the nice things in the world to me
quickly--in ten minutes!"
"How shall I begin?" he whispered.
She leaned once more toward him.
"You don't need any hints," she murmured. "You're really quite good at
it!"