The men did not linger in the dining-room. The women, protesting that
they were later than usual for the opera, left immediately after they
returned to the drawing-room. There was a cool insolence in their
"good-byes" and there was no doubt that they meant them to be final.
Only Anne Goodrich shook the imperturbable hostess's hand warmly and
asked if she might come some day to tea.
The husbands perforce went with their wives, after farewells that
sounded more like au revoirs, and so did the younger men, except
Clavering and Harry Vane. Clavering planted himself on the hearthrug,
and Vane, scowling at him, lingered uncertainly.
He plunged his hands into his pockets, and, very red, stood in front of
Madame Zattiany, who was leaning back in her chair and fanning herself
leisurely. "I feel like apologizing for those beastly women," he
blurted out.
"Apologize?" Madame Zattiany raised her eyebrows.
"Yes. Can't you see they came here tonight with the deliberate
intention of making New York too hot to hold you? So that you'd clear
out? They'd made up their minds that you'd changed yours about
returning to Europe. They hate you. They're used to being jealous of
one another, but this has knocked them silly and they can't get used to
it. It's--it's--oh, it's too awful! I almost died of shame."
"I really do not understand. Do you mean to tell me they meant to be
rude? I thought they were rather naïve and charming."
"Damned hypocrites. They hoped to make you simply expire with
embarrassment. But you were splendid. They must feel like naughty
children that have been stood in a corner."
Madame Zattiany laughed. "Then I have unwittingly been playing my part
in a little comedy. How stupid they must have thought me! But I
really hope for their sakes that you are mistaken." She rose and held
out her hand. "I am going to ask you to excuse me, Mr. Vane. I have a
small commission for Mr. Clavering, who has kindly waited. And I am
very tired."
Vane's face fell and he looked resentfully at Clavering, in whom he
instantly recognized a rival. But there was nothing to do but go and
he went.
When Madame Zattiany heard the front door close she told the footman on
duty in the hall to put out the lights and go to bed.
Then she walked down the room to the library door. "Will you put out
these lights?" she asked Clavering. "I believe we still have a fire in
here."
Clavering, expecting to find her dissolved in tears, and, violent as
his sympathy for her was, rejoicing that his was the part to comfort
her, followed her precipitately. But she was standing by the table
with scornful lips and eyes.
"I thought you'd be all broken up," he stammered. Tears of
disappointment almost rose to his own eyes.
She laughed shortly. "I? Do you suppose I would pay them so great a
compliment? But what a ridiculous exhibition they made of themselves.
It seems incredible."
"But surely you must have been hurt--and stabbed. It isn't possible
that you weren't!"
"Oh, yes, I was stabbed, but I think I was even more amused. I felt
sorry for the poor things. I certainly never saw a more comically
naked exhibition of human nature. It was worth coming to America for.
Nor do I blame them. No doubt I should have felt the same at their
age--although I hope I should even then have expressed myself in a
fashion a trifle more subtle, a little less primeval."
"Good God! Are you always so--so rational?"
She smiled slightly. "If I deliberately unlearned the more valuable
things a long life taught me there would be no object beyond vanity in
being young again. And don't you suppose I was grateful tonight for my
years--those years so crowded with training and experience? Who better
prepared than I to hold my own against a lot of raw Americans?"
"That is the first human thing you've said. Raw? Wasn't it Darwin who
said that we are all such a short distance, in time, removed from our
common savage ancestors that it is a wonder we don't revert oftener
than we do? They were plain unadulterated females. I believe men are
more civilized than women."
"Oh, no, but they revert on the grand scale. . . . I cannot say I was
totally unprepared--not for such a concerted and shocking exhibition,
of course; but I've felt their antagonism and expected to be dropped
gradually from their set. Of course, this is the end, definitely.
However," she shrugged her shoulders again, "I have enjoyed the New
York which seems to have changed in so many ways since my day, and all
dramas should have a proper 'curtain,' should they not? Is your own
play finished, by the way?"
"Oh!" He turned his back on her and leaned on the mantel-piece,
dropping his head on his arms. He had never felt as far away from her
when he had been unable to learn even her name. What need had she of
him or any man?
Mary gave him a quick comprehending glance, and came out of her
isolation. She went over to him, turned him around, and took his face
between her hands.
"Can't you imagine what it meant to me to have you there?" she asked
softly. "It seemed to me that nothing else mattered. We two are in a
world of our own. How could they seem more to me than the buzzing of
so many brainless insects? Forget it, and I shall."
But although he was consoled, he wondered, as he left the house, if he
would ever feel more depressed in his life. She might love him, but
what else could he ever be to her but a lover? His manhood rebelled.
If she had only flung herself weeping into his arms. If for once he
could have felt himself stronger than she--indispensable.