It was doubtless owing to Mrs. Fairford's foresight that such
possibilities of tension were curtailed, after dinner, by her carrying
off Ralph and his betrothed to the theatre.
Mr. Dagonet, it was understood, always went to bed after an hour's whist
with his daughter; and the silent Mr. Fairford gave his evenings to
bridge at his club. The party, therefore, consisted only of Undine and
Ralph, with Mrs. Fairford and her attendant friend. Undine vaguely
wondered why the grave and grey-haired Mr. Bowen formed so invariable a
part of that lady's train; but she concluded that it was the York custom
for married ladies to have gentlemen "'round" (as girls had in Apex),
and that Mr. Bowen was the sole survivor of Laura Fairford's earlier
triumphs.
She had, however, little time to give to such conjectures, for the
performance they were attending--the debut of a fashionable London
actress--had attracted a large audience in which Undine immediately
recognized a number of familiar faces. Her engagement had been announced
only the day before, and she had the delicious sense of being "in
all the papers," and of focussing countless glances of interest and
curiosity as she swept through the theatre in Mrs. Fairford's wake.
Their stalls were near the stage, and progress thither was slow enough
to permit of prolonged enjoyment of this sensation. Before passing to
her place she paused for Ralph to remove her cloak, and as he lifted it
from her shoulders she heard a lady say behind her: "There she is--the
one in white, with the lovely back--" and a man answer: "Gad! Where did
he find anything as good as that?"
Anonymous approval was sweet enough; but she was to taste a moment more
exquisite when, in the proscenium box across the house, she saw Clare
Van Degen seated beside the prim figure of Miss Harriet Ray. "They're
here to see me with him--they hate it, but they couldn't keep away!"
She turned and lifted a smile of possessorship to Ralph. Mrs. Fairford
seemed also struck by the presence Of the two ladies, and Undine heard
her whisper to Mr. Bowen: "Do you see Clare over there--and Harriet with
her? Harriet WOULD COME--I call it Spartan! And so like Clare to ask
her!"
Her companion laughed. "It's one of the deepest instincts in human
nature. The murdered are as much given as the murderer to haunting the
scene of the crime."
Doubtless guessing Ralph's desire to have Undine to himself, Mrs.
Fairford had sent the girl in first; and Undine, as she seated herself,
was aware that the occupant of the next stall half turned to her, as
with a vague gesture of recognition. But just then the curtain rose, and
she became absorbed in the development of the drama, especially as it
tended to display the remarkable toilets which succeeded each other on
the person of its leading lady. Undine, seated at Ralph Marvell's side,
and feeling the thrill of his proximity as a subtler element in
the general interest she was exciting, was at last repaid for the
disappointment of her evening at the opera. It was characteristic of her
that she remembered her failures as keenly as her triumphs, and that the
passionate desire to obliterate, to "get even" with them, was always
among the latent incentives of her conduct. Now at last she was having
what she wanted--she was in conscious possession of the "real thing";
and through her other, diffused, sensations Ralph's adoration gave her
such a last refinement of pleasure as might have come to some warrior
Queen borne in triumph by captive princes, and reading in the eyes of
one the passion he dared not speak. When the curtain fell this vague
enjoyment was heightened by various acts of recognition. All the people
she wanted to "go with," as they said in Apex, seemed to be about her
in the stalls and boxes; and her eyes continued to revert with special
satisfaction to the incongruous group formed by Mrs. Peter Van Degen and
Miss Ray. The sight made it irresistible to whisper to Ralph: "You ought
to go round and talk to your cousin. Have you told her we're engaged?"
"Clare? of course. She's going to call on you tomorrow."
"Oh, she needn't put herself out--she's never been yet," said Undine
loftily.
He made no rejoinder, but presently asked: "Who's that you're waving
to?"
"Mr. Popple. He's coming round to see us. You know he wants to paint
me." Undine fluttered and beamed as the brilliant Popple made his way
across the stalls to the seat which her neighbour had momentarily left.
"First-rate chap next to you--whoever he is--to give me this chance,"
the artist declared. "Ha, Ralph, my boy, how did you pull it off? That's
what we're all of us wondering." He leaned over to give Marvell's hand
the ironic grasp of celibacy. "Well, you've left us lamenting: he has,
you know. Miss Spragg. But I've got one pull over the others--I can
paint you! He can't forbid that, can he? Not before marriage, anyhow!"
Undine divided her shining glances between the two. "I guess he isn't
going to treat me any different afterward," she proclaimed with joyous
defiance.
"Ah, well, there's no telling, you know. Hadn't we better begin at once?
Seriously, I want awfully to get you into the spring show."
"Oh, really? That would be too lovely!"
"YOU would be, certainly--the way I mean to do you. But I see Ralph
getting glum. Cheer up, my dear fellow; I daresay you'll be invited to
some of the sittings--that's for Miss Spragg to say.--Ah, here comes
your neighbour back, confound him--You'll let me know when we can
begin?"
As Popple moved away Undine turned eagerly to Marvell. "Do you suppose
there's time? I'd love to have him to do me!"
Ralph smiled. "My poor child--he WOULD 'do' you, with a vengeance.
Infernal cheek, his asking you to sit--"
She stared. "But why? He's painted your cousin, and all the smart
women."
"Oh, if a 'smart' portrait's all you want!"
"I want what the others want," she answered, frowning and pouting a
little. She was already beginning to resent in Ralph the slightest sign
of resistance to her pleasure; and her resentment took the form--a
familiar one in Apex courtships--of turning on him, in the next
entr'acte, a deliberately averted shoulder. The result of this was to
bring her, for the first time, in more direct relation to her other
neighbour. As she turned he turned too, showing her, above a shining
shirt-front fastened with a large imitation pearl, a ruddy plump snub
face without an angle in it, which yet looked sharper than a razor.
Undine's eyes met his with a startled look, and for a long moment they
remained suspended on each other's stare.
Undine at length shrank back with an unrecognizing face; but her
movement made her opera-glass slip to the floor, and her neighbour bent
down and picked it up.
"Well--don't you know me yet?" he said with a slight smile, as he
restored the glass to her.
She had grown white to the lips, and when she tried to speak the effort
produced only a faint click in her throat. She felt that the change in
her appearance must be visible, and the dread of letting Marvell see it
made her continue to turn her ravaged face to her other neighbour.
The round black eyes set prominently in the latter's round glossy
countenance had expressed at first only an impersonal and slightly
ironic interest; but a look of surprise grew in them as Undine's silence
continued.
"What's the matter? Don't you want me to speak to you?"
She became aware that Marvell, as if unconscious of her slight show of
displeasure, had left his seat, and was making his way toward the aisle;
and this assertion of independence, which a moment before she would so
deeply have resented, now gave her a feeling of intense relief.
"No--don't speak to me, please. I'll tell you another time--I'll
write." Her neighbour continued to gaze at her, forming his lips into a
noiseless whistle under his small dark moustache.
"Well, I--That's about the stiffest," he murmured; and as she made no
answer he added: "Afraid I'll ask to be introduced to your friend?"
She made a faint movement of entreaty. "I can't explain. I promise to
see you; but I ASK you not to talk to me now."
He unfolded his programme, and went on speaking in a low tone while he
affected to study it. "Anything to oblige, of course. That's always been
my motto. But is it a bargain--fair and square? You'll see me?"
She receded farther from him. "I promise. I--I WANT to," she faltered.
"All right, then. Call me up in the morning at the Driscoll Building.
Seven-o-nine--got it?"
She nodded, and he added in a still lower tone: "I suppose I can
congratulate you, anyhow?" and then, without waiting for her reply,
turned to study Mrs. Van Degen's box through his opera-glass. Clare, as
if aware of the scrutiny fixed on her from below leaned back and threw a
question over her shoulder to Ralph Marvell, who had just seated himself
behind her.
"Who's the funny man with the red face talking to Miss Spragg?"
Ralph bent forward. "The man next to her? Never saw him before. But I
think you're mistaken: she's not speaking to him."
"She WAS--Wasn't she, Harriet?"
Miss Ray pinched her lips together without speaking, and Mrs. Van Degen
paused for the fraction of a second. "Perhaps he's an Apex friend," she
then suggested.
"Very likely. Only I think she'd have introduced him if he had been."