this evening,” he went on, “but you have made up for it—more than made up for it.”
“Of course, you simply must meet him,” she exclaimed, “I’m quite sure you would get on famously together.”
“You dear thing, that’s very sweet and adorable of you. But listen—tell me more about yourself.”
She held on to her evening bag with hot, sticky fingers. “Oh! there’s nothing, nothing.”
“Nonsense—anyway, I feel we are going to be friends, real friends.” He held out his cigarette case and smiled. “You don’t smoke? How refreshing. One gets so tired of these women with their eternal cigarettes.”
The girl’s eyes wandered towards the figure of her hostess, surrounded by a little group of men and women.
“She’s lovely. Do you know her well?”
“Oh! one comes across her from time to time,” he answered carelessly. “But luxury has never appealed to me, I like simple things, books, being alone, or with somebody who understands.”
“So do I.” They smiled at each other.
“I can talk to you about anything,” he said softly, “not only books, but things that matter. It’s marvellous to be able to discuss sex with a girl of your age, and not feel self-conscious, not be aware. You’re so lovely too, which makes it all the more rare and astounding. You’ve been told so hundreds of times.”
“No—never—”
“But that is absolutely remarkable.” He moved closer to her, pressing her knee.
Then his hostess moved from her group towards them. He rose to his feet and made an excuse to the girl.
“For the last hour I’ve been driven nearly mad,” he whispered rapidly. “I haven’t seen you for a moment alone. Always surrounded by that infernal crowd. And I’ve been sitting here, chatting to this little schoolgirl, watching you. Gosh—you look wonderful—wonderful.”
“My poor darling—and I imagined you were enjoying yourself.”
“As if I ever think of anything but you for a single moment,” he said.
She put her finger on her lips. “Hush—someone may hear. Be reasonable and remember tomorrow.”
He started, feigning astonishment. “Tomorrow? I don’t think I can manage tomorrow.”
“But you said at lunch … ?”
“Yes, I know, only when I got back I remembered there was an article that must be written.”
“Naturally your work comes first. But in the evening?”
“Yes, of course, in the evening.”
“Good night, my beloved.”
“Good night.”
He wandered down into the hall and saw the girl step into her car. He ran bareheaded down to the pavement. He arranged the rug carefully over her knees.
“I can’t tell you what it’s done to me—meeting you,” he said. “I’m going back to work. I shall think of you.”
“How—how wonderful,” breathed the girl.
He glanced up at the house behind him, and then bent forward intimately and took her hand.
“Listen—are you doing anything tomorrow between five and seven?”
It was midnight when he let himself into his room at the hotel. After all, he had not wasted his time. He flung off his clothes and slipped into his dressing-gown. Then he prepared the room for work. Five cushions on the sofa, and on a stool beside it the gramophone and a case full of records. A box of cigarettes, matches, whisky, and a soda siphon on the floor within reach.
He lay down upon the sofa, settled the cushions behind his head, started a record, and balanced a sheet of foolscap against his knee.
The room filled with smoke and the gramophone played, but the sheet of foolscap remained white and untouched.
Suddenly the telephone rang sharply, screamingly, in his ear. With a grunt of annoyance he stretched out his hand.
A woman’s voice came across the wire, whispering, pleading.
“Is that Gerrard 10550? Is that you? Oh! forgive me, but you made me so miserable on the phone this morning. I’ll try and be patient about not seeing you—but tell me, do you love me as much now as you did in September … ?”
The Supreme Artist
He came away from the stage after the final curtain, and went along to his dressing-room humming a tune to himself, thinking of nothing. The girl followed close behind, patting the lock of hair that had fallen over her face.
“You smudged your eye black when you cried this afternoon,” she told him, “it came off in streaks down the side of my neck—look how filthy it is. I suppose you must cry?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it before,” he said, “I’ll try something else tonight. We might alter the whole of the last act. What about wearing a beard? I’m sure one could give an entirely different performance in a beard.”
He turned to the looking-glass in his room, and squinted sideways at his profile.
“I should hate you in a beard,” she said, feeling his chin. “It would make you all heavy and middle-aged. Darling, promise me never to wear one?”
He picked up a hand-mirror and viewed himself from another angle.
“I’m not so sure,” he said doubtfully, and then called over his shoulder to his dresser, “Monkton, what about a beard for the last act?”
The man coughed politely behind his hand. “Well, Sir, it’s hardly for me to say, but I scarcely think it would be suitable. Not for this type of part, Sir.”
“P’r’aps you’re right. Why is it I’m never allowed to do as I like—’Oi, where are you going?”
She turned to him from the doorway. “Upstairs to change. Have you got the car outside?”
“Yes—want throwing out anywhere?”
“Take me back to the flat like an angel, unless you’ve got millions of people to see. I can easily find a bus …”
“Don’t be a mug, of course I’ll drive you anywhere. Buck up and get your things on. Monkton, there’s nobody waiting, is there?” He began taking off his coat.
“One minute, Sir, excuse me, but I believe there’s a lady wishes to see you. Here is her card, but she said you wouldn’t know the card, Sir. I said I knew you generally liked to get away quickly matinée days, and she seemed disappointed. Said she’d wait in case you could spare her a few minutes.”
“Give me the card.” He frowned over it, twisting it
