"Your friends over there look better able to do without you than I feel," Irene ventured, with an over-shoulder sigh. "I don't know who in the world they are, but--"

"No more do I, Miss Sturgis."

"You don't? You mean--"

"Righto. Just met up with 'em in the lobby. They hadn't any seats and I had more than I could use without exerting myself."

"How nice! Then they have only half as much right to you as I have. You see, I, as well as Miss Lauderdale, have met you before."

"Down Broadway, you mean, and although you didn't know it?"

She nodded back at him tenderly. "And although separated by circ.u.mstances-I in the car and you on the curb. From my cousin's descriptions, I adore rangers. Don't I, dar-rling?"

"No one could doubt that, eh, Jane?" Harford made answer for Miss Lauderdale, whom he had relieved of her fan with as much solicitude as though each ostrich feather weighed a pound.

"I do really. _Why not_?" Low and luringly Irene laughed. "You must look awfully picturesque in your uniform of forest green, your cavalry hat and laced boots."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm a cowman, not a ranger," Pape thought advisable to state in a tone calculated to reach the ears of her responsible for his presence in their midst. "But most of the park service members are my friends. I live on the edge of the playground and know them right well."

The young girl refused to have her enthusiasm quashed. "Well, that's just as good. You have their spirit without being tied to the stake of routine, as it were. I detest routine, don't you? Or _do_ you? On second thought, you're much better off. Don't _you_ think he is, dar-rling?"

In the dimming of the auditorium lights, she leaned closer to him; seemed to transfer the fulsomely drawled term of endearment from her relative to him; added in a cross between murmur and whisper:

"Isn't dar-rling a difficult word-hard to say seriously? Fancy caring that much for any one-I mean any one of one's own s.e.x. Of course, I hope really to love a man that much some day. That is, I do unless I go in for a career. Careers _do_ keep one from getting fat, though. As I am constantly telling my mother--"

"S-sh!"

Pape was relieved by Mrs. Allen's silencing sibilant.

CHAPTER VI-JUST AU REVOIR

The great audience caught its breath and hopefully returned attention to the affairs of the French actress who so had shocked and fascinated them at the first act's end. Stripped almost to the waist, the daring and tuneful Zaza had left them. More conventionally, not to say comfortably clad, she reappeared.

Pape, as deficient in French as in appreciation of opera arias, applied himself hopefully at first to getting the gist of the piece, but soon concluded that he must be clear "off trail in his lingo."

Out in Montana, the most meteoric stage luminary never would think of singing a perfectly good wife and mother into handing over husband and father merely because his eyes had gone sort of blinky star-gazing at her. No. Such a translation didn't sound reasonable at all; was quite too raw for the range. Better give his ears to the music and buy a Hoyle-translated libretto to-morrow.

Settling back in his chair, Pape allowed his gaze and mind to concentrate, after a habit acquired of late in Central Park, upon the nearby. She had an expressive profile, the young woman whom he had self-selected. If facial traits had real connection with character, that protruding chin, although curved too youthfully to do justice to its joints, suggested that she would not retreat unless punished beyond her strength. If young Irene only would take one good look at her cousin's chin she must give up in any contest between them.

But then, Irene's mental eye was on herself. To her, evidently, all other women were more or less becoming backgrounds.

That she should be so near him, Jane; that he actually should get-oh, it wasn't imagination-the fragrance of her hair; yet that he should be so far away! ... She'd be annoyed and he must not do it, but he felt tempted to train his hired gla.s.ses on her, as she had trained hers on him only a few minutes since. He'd have liked again to draw her eyes close to his through their lensed aid and study out the answer to that teasing question-did she or did she not know that she didn't know him?

One thing was clear in the semi-gloom. Her neck and shoulders and back looked more like marble than he'd have supposed live flesh could look.

And her lines were lovely-not too padded over to conceal the shoulder blades, yet smooth. Above the narrow part of the V of silver lace, a small, dark dot emphasized her whiteness. Was it a freckle or a mole?

Another than himself seemed interested to know. The handsome Mr. Harford was leaning forward, elbows on knees and chin cupped in hand, his eyes closed, his lips almost touching the beauty spot. Had he given up to the welling wail of Zaza's attempt to out-sing conventions or was his attention, too, on that tantalizing mark?

Whether or no, Pape felt at the moment that he must prevent the imminent contact if he did not live to do anything else in life. He, too, leaned forward. But his eyes did not close. They remained wide open, accurately gauging the distance between a pair of sacrilegious mustached lips and--

Tragedy was temporarily averted or, as it turned out, supplanted. An usher appeared between the curtains; in subdued tones asked for Miss Lauderdale; held up a square, white envelope.

Jane arose and pa.s.sed into the cloak room. Mills Harford followed her.

Pape in turn, followed him. Observing the girl closely as she tore open the envelope and read the enclosure, he saw alarm on her face; saw the sudden tension of her figure; saw her lips lengthen into a thin line.

"Chauffeur brought it. He is waiting down stairs for an answer," the usher advised her.

"Tell him," she said, "that I'll come at once."

The usher bowed and vanished.

"Anything wrong, Jane?" Harford asked.

"I can't stay for the last act. Aunt Helene has been-has sent for me."

As if fearful lest he should insist upon knowing the contents of her note, she crumpled it in one hand; with the other reached for a brocaded cape that hung on one side of the mirrored rack; allowed him to antic.i.p.ate her and lay it about her shoulders.

"I'll go with you," said he.

"No." She paused in her start toward the corridor and glanced into his face uncertainly. "Tamo is waiting with the car. You must see the opera out. The Farrar probably has thrills and thrills saved for the _finale_."

"Not for me-without you. Of course I'll go with you, dear."

The ardor of the handsome chap's last p.r.o.nouncement seemed to decide her.

"Of course you won't." She shook his hand from her shoulder as if offended. "You are giving this party. You owe it to the Allens to stay.

Explain to Irene and the rest that I--"

"At least let me put you into the car."

"No." Positively, she snapped this time. "I don't need you. I don't want you, to be frank. You're coming up to the house to supper, all of you.

Perhaps then I'll explain."

"You'll explain on the way up-now."

Harford looked to have made up his mind; looked angry. He took her elbow rather forcefully and started with her into the corridor.

On the sill she stopped and faced him defiantly. "I won't explain until and unless I wish to. You can't use that tone with me, Mills, successful as you may have found it with others. Mr. Pape is going to put me into the car."

And lo, the Westerner found himself by her side, _his_ hand at her elbow. He had felt electrified by her summons. Although not once had she glanced toward where he stood just outside the curtains, uncertain whether to advance or retreat, she apparently had been keen to his presence and had felt his readiness to serve.

Their last glance at Harford showed his face auburn as his hair. They hurried down the grand stairway, pa.s.sed the regal doorman and queried the resplendent starter. His signal brought the Sturgis limousine, parked on Broadway in consideration of the emergency call. The driver, a j.a.panese, was alone on the seat in front.

Jane had not volunteered one word on the way down, and Pape was mindful to profit by the recent demonstration of her resentment of inquiries.