Preference might have carried Xenophon Curry out to the Beach, but _ars
longa; vita brevis_—he settled cheerfully at the Alexander Young so as to
be near the theatre.
Scarcely had he descended from his room when a most surprising
circumstance developed. Over in one corner of the lobby stood a small
booth where ladies of social prominence were selling flowers for the
benefit of a local charity. All at once the impresario stopped and gazed,
unbelieving, fascinated. And at the very same moment there was a stir
inside the booth, and lo! one of the ladies came forth from it, came
smiling and nodding toward him across the lobby, her face shining with
welcome, and a ready hand outstretched.
Flora Utterbourne—yes, it was really she! Their greeting, as may well be
imagined, was effusive and faintly loud. It was really beautiful!
“But—I left you on the dock...!” he faltered lamely, but happily.
“I know,” she laughed, with warm joyousness, though without his
amazement, “but you see—I took the next steamer _down_, for there were
some _friends_ who had been planning to spend a few _weeks_ here and
asked me to go _along_, and I found I could get _away_, though I really
hadn’t intended leaving town just at this _time_!”
They chattered, then, delightedly, and for ever so long couldn’t seem to
exhaust the stock of superlative congratulations, self and mutual. At
last, however, they seated themselves, and she went on flowingly: “It
really was my _friends_”—just a faintly blushing insistence—“who ‘carried
me off’—the Trents, originally of _Toronto_—perhaps you _know_ them?—and
Mrs. Clyde, who was Miss _Spurling_,—she is the friend I was with in
_Madeira_, the year we met Signora Martinella, who nearly ‘took her life’
in such a strange and tragic _way_!” And Flora was enthusiastically
launched, right then and there, upon a most amazing digression, all
about the Signora Martinella, who was encountered first in the ball
room—“rather _flirting_, we thought—quite a _frivolous_ little thing!”
And then it developed—oh, well, it was a very absorbing affair, and the
Signora in the end _didn’t_ take poison. Oh yes, it was most elaborately
enthusiastic; and when the end was reached she and the impresario sat
facing each other in a state of breathlessness: it was several seconds
before they seemed to realize that all this had no essential point
for them! When at length they did realize this, she smiled, a little
self-consciously, while he was humorously devouring her with his bright
black eyes, and trying to convince himself that this incredible fact
really _was_ a fact.
“We’ve been scanning the ‘horizon’ with such _anxiety_,” she told him,
“hoping each day for a glimpse of the _schooner_—trusting and praying
that nothing had ‘gone wrong’, and in the meantime we’ve been advertising
your ‘songbirds’ really most _extensively_, and are planning to attend
the ‘first night’ of each new _production_, which quite takes me back to
the old days in _Paris_, when I was doing a little studying _myself_,
though of course I knew I never had anything more than a ‘parlour’ voice,
and only wanted to train it a little so that I could give pleasure to
my _friends_, in a way!” And then—it seemed so irresistibly to fit in
here—he was told all about the funny old Italian teacher who would jump
up and down, exclaiming: “_Troppo apperto!_” till she would ask in
despair: “But what can I _do_ about it?” whereupon the Italian would cry:
“_Chiudi! Chiudi!_” Flora smiled richly over the reminiscence.
And then, as they proceeded, she was so very sympathetic that the
impresario just poured out, on the spot, all his business and artistic
troubles, and told her about the clerk—“Lord, a sheer stroke of luck from
my point of view!” And she humorously sighed: “It’s _always_ puzzled me
how you’ve managed to keep everything _going_ in your own head!” And
he asked: “But you see how mysteriously life works? Isn’t it really
remarkable? You never know if people you just casually meet may be
destined....” It trailed off in the wake of a gesture just a little wild;
for obviously both had instantly caught from this a personal not to say a
most thrilling application.
Well, in a word, both of them rejoiced—like a couple of youngsters—at
being together again!
“I know you’ve a _thousand_ things to _do_,” she said at last, rising,
“and I mustn’t keep you any longer, though I _couldn’t_ help ‘waylaying’
you the first _thing_! You see, I’m helping some of my friends—we’re
selling flowers for homeless babies!” She laughed softly. “I really feel
almost like a ‘native’, and you know—I’ve taken a _house_, and have it
nearly all _furnished_, though I’d intended merely to _rest_ here in
Honolulu! I understand how _busy_ you are, and that it won’t be possible
for you to ‘drop in’ quite so frequently as _before_, though the little
‘villino’ by the sea will be always wide open to _welcome_ you, and I
must show you my _charming_ Japanese ‘breakfast’ dishes!”
“I think you’ll find I’ll manage,” he said, stroking his toupee
delightedly with a couple of deft, tender fingers. He was perfectly
radiant.
“Perhaps I’ll give a little garden _tea_ one day, for I’ve a really
most _delicious_ terrace, and invite your ‘songbirds,’ and maybe
Miss Valentine would _sing_!” Whereupon the big impresario almost
whooped—yes, right there in the lobby—because his temperamental heart was
making such an enormous commotion. And for that matter the lady’s heart
was making a commotion also.
“_Addio, signore!_” she murmured cordially—and was gone, her skirts
rustling very much.