Derek Kettering emerged from Van Aldin's suite so precipitantly that he
collided with a lady passing across the corridor. He apologized, and
she accepted his apologies with a smiling reassurance and passed on,
leaving with him a pleasant impression of a soothing personality and
rather fine grey eyes.
For all his nonchalance, his interview with his father-in-law had
shaken him more than he cared to show. He had a solitary lunch, and
after it, frowning to himself a little, he went around to the sumptuous
flat that housed the lady known as Mirelle. A trim Frenchwoman received
him with smiles.
"But enter then, Monsieur. Madame reposes herself."
He was ushered into the long room with its Eastern setting which
he knew so well. Mirelle was lying on the divan, supported by an
incredible number of cushions, all in varying shades of amber, to
harmonize with the yellow ochre of her complexion. The dancer was a
beautifully made woman, and if her face, beneath its mask of yellow,
was in truth somewhat haggard, it had a bizarre charm of its own, and
her orange lips smiled invitingly at Derek Kettering.
He kissed her, and flung himself into a chair.
"What have you been doing with yourself? Just got up, I suppose?"
The orange mouth widened into a long smile.
"No," said the dancer. "I have been at work."
She flung out a long, pale hand towards the piano, which was littered
with untidy music scores.
"Ambrose has been here. He has been playing me the new Opera."
Kettering nodded without paying much attention. He was profoundly
uninterested in Claud Ambrose and the latter's operatic setting of
Ibsen's _Peer Gynt_. So was Mirelle, for that matter, regarding it
merely as a unique opportunity for her own presentation as Anitra.
"It is a marvellous dance," she murmured. "I shall put all the passion
of the desert into it. I shall dance hung over with jewels--ah! and,
by the way, _mon ami_, there is a pearl that I saw yesterday in Bond
Street--a black pearl."
She paused, looking at him invitingly.
"My dear girl," said Kettering, "it's no use talking of black pearls to
me. At the present minute, as far as I am concerned, the fat is in the
fire."
She was quick to respond to his tone. She sat up, her big black eyes
widening.
"What is that you say, Dereek? What has happened?"
"My esteemed father-in-law," said Kettering, "is preparing to go off
the deep-end."
"Eh?"
"In other words, he wants Ruth to divorce me."
"How stupid!" said Mirelle. "Why should she want to divorce you?"
Derek Kettering grinned.
"Mainly because of you, _chérie_!" he said.
Mirelle shrugged her shoulders.
"That is foolish," she observed in a matter-of-fact voice.
"Very foolish," agreed Derek.
"What are you going to do about it?" demanded Mirelle.
"My dear girl, what can I do? On the one side, the man with unlimited
money; on the other side, the man with unlimited debts. There is no
question as to who will come out on top."
"They are extraordinary, these Americans," commented Mirelle. "It is
not as though your wife were fond of you."
"Well," said Derek, "what are we going to do about it?"
She looked at him inquiringly. He came over and took both her hands in
his.
"Are you going to stick to me?"
"What do you mean? After--"
"Yes," said Kettering. "After, when the creditors come down like wolves
on the fold. I am damned fond of you, Mirelle; are you going to let me
down?"
She pulled her hands away from him.
"You know I adore you, Dereek."
He caught the note of evasion in her voice.
"So that's that, is it? The rats will leave the sinking ship."
"Ah, Dereek!"
"Out with it," he said violently. "You will fling me over; is that it?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I am fond of you, _mon ami_--indeed I am fond of you. You are very
charming--_un beau garçon_, but _ce n'est pas pratique_."
"You are a rich man's luxury, eh? Is that it?"
"If you like to put it that way."
She leaned back on the cushions, her head flung back.
"All the same, I am fond of you, Dereek."
He went over to the window and stood there some time looking out, with
his back to her. Presently the dancer raised herself on her elbow and
stared at him curiously.
"What are you thinking of, _mon ami_?"
He grinned at her over his shoulder, a curious grin, that made her
vaguely uneasy.
"As it happened, I was thinking of a woman, my dear."
"A woman, eh?"
Mirelle pounced on something that she could understand.
"You are thinking of some other woman, is that it?"
"Oh, you needn't worry; it is purely a fancy portrait. 'Portrait of a
lady with grey eyes.'"