"He was here to tea with me," John remarked, as he led the way to their table.

"My dear man," Louise exclaimed, "if you could have kept him half an hour longer you'd have earned our undying grat.i.tude! You see, there are several little things on which we shall never agree, he and myself and the rest of the company; so we decided to run over certain pa.s.sages in the way we intend to do them, without him. Of course, he saw through it all when he arrived, tore up his ma.n.u.script on the stage, and generally behaved like a madman."

"I am sorry," John said, as they took their seats and he handed Louise the menu of the dinner that he had ordered. "Won't the play be produced to-morrow night, then?"

"Oh, it will be produced all right," Louise told him; "but you don't know how we've all worn ourselves out, trying to make that old bear see reason. We've had to give way on one scene, as it is. What a delightful little dinner, John! You're spoiling us. You know how I love that big white asparagus. And strawberries, too! Well, I think we've earned it anyhow, Sophy!"

"You have," the latter declared. "You were the only one who could soothe Graillot at all."

"I can get my way with most people," Louise remarked languidly; "but it simply means that the more difficult they are, the more you have to spend yourself in getting it. John," she went on, after a moment's pause, "you are coming to-morrow night, I suppose?"

"Of course. Didn't I take my box two months ago?"

"And now that my part after the first act has been cut out, I am coming with him," Sophy put in. "I may, mayn't I?"

"Of course," John a.s.sented.

Louise sighed dejectedly.

"I am not at all sure that I shall like having you there," she said. "I shouldn't be at all surprised if it made me nervous."

He laughed incredulously.

"It's all very well," she went on, watching the champagne poured in to her gla.s.s, "but you won't like the play, you know."

"Perhaps I sha'n't understand it altogether," John agreed. "It's very subtle, and, as you know, I don't find problem plays of that sort particularly attractive; but with you in it, you can't imagine that I sha'n't find it interesting!"

"We were talking about it, coming up in the taxi," Louise continued, "and we came to the conclusion that you'd hate it. We've had to give way to Graillot with regard to the last act. Of course, there is really nothing in it, but I don't know just what you will say."

"Well, you needn't be afraid that I shall stand up in my box and order the performance to cease," John a.s.sured them, smiling. "Besides, I am not quite such an idiot, Louise. I know very well that you may have to say and do things on the stage which in private life would offend your taste and your sense of dignity. I am quite reconciled to that. I am prepared to accept everything you do and everything that you say. There!

I can't say more than that, can I?"

Louise smiled at him almost gratefully. She drew her hand over his, caressingly.

"You are a dear!" she declared. "You've really made me feel much more comfortable. Now please tell me what you have been doing all day."

"Well, Graillot came in and spent most of the afternoon," John answered.

"Since then, Lady Hilda Mulloch has been here."

Louise looked up quickly.

"What, here in your rooms?"

"I didn't ask her," John said. "I have been to see her once or twice, and she has been very nice, but I never dreamed of her coming here."

"Shameless hussy!" Sophy exclaimed, as she set down her wine-gla.s.s.

"Didn't you tell her that Louise and I are the only two women in London who have the entree to your rooms?"

"I am afraid it didn't occur to me to tell her that," John confessed, smiling. "All the same, I was surprised to see her. It was just a whim, I think."

"She is a clever woman," Louise sighed. "She won't know me--I can't imagine why. She is a cousin of the prince, too, you know."

"She is very amusing," John agreed. "I have met some interesting people at her house, too. She has asked me down to Bourne End for this next week-end--the week-end you are spending with Mrs. Faraday," he continued, glancing toward Louise.

Louise nodded. She looked at John critically.

"Quite a success in town, isn't he?" she remarked to Sophy. "People tumble over one another to get invitations for her week-end parties in the season. I must say I never heard of going down to Bourne End in February, though."

"The idea seemed rather pleasant to me," John confessed. "So many of you people know nothing of the country except just in the summer!"

"If John gets talking about the country," Louise said, "we shall not be allowed our proper share in the conversation for the rest of the evening. The question is, are we to allow him to go down to Bourne End?

Lady Hilda isn't exactly a Puritan where your s.e.x is concerned, you know, John."

"She'll expect you to flirt with her," Sophy insisted.

"She won't," John replied. "I have told her that I am in love with Louise."

"Was there ever such a man in the world?" Louise exclaimed. "Tell me, what did Lady Hilda say to that?"

"Not much," he answered. "She suggested that her cousin had a prior claim on you."

Louise laid down her knife and fork. Her left hand clutched the piece of toast which was lying by her side. She began to crumble it up into small pieces.

"What did Lady Hilda say exactly?" she insisted.

"Nothing much," John replied. "She seemed surprised when I mentioned your name. I asked her why, and she told me, or rather she hinted, that you and the prince are very great friends."

"Anything more?"

"Nothing at all. I pointed out that the prince is interested in theatrical affairs, and that he is the chief member of the syndicate that runs the theaters. She seemed to understand."

There was a brief silence. Louise was once more looking a little tired.

She changed the subject abruptly, and only returned to it when John was driving home with her.

"Do you know," she said, after a long silence, "I am not at all sure that I want you to go to Lady Hilda's!"

"Then I won't," he promised with alacrity. "I'll do just as you say."

Louise sat quite still, thinking, looking through the rain-splashed windows of the taxicab.

"You have only to say the word," John continued. "I should be flattered to think that you cared."

"It isn't that. Lady Hilda is very clever, and she is used to having her own way. I am afraid!"

"Afraid of what?"

"Of nothing," Louise declared suddenly. "Go, by all means, John. I am simply a little idiot when I give way for a moment to such poisonous thoughts. Lady Hilda can say what she likes about anybody or anything.

It really doesn't matter at all whether you go to Bourne End or not."