“Awfully sorry my coming ran you away—didn’t know I was such an ogre,” he apologized as Mrs. Crosby hurriedly gathered the more intimate garments she had brought forth for Mimi’s inspection.
“You didn’t run me—I should have been gone long since—”
“The Holy Behemoth’s been talking you deaf, dumb and blind,” he whispered with a nod in the general direction of Mrs. Crosby, who was humming a music hall air she had heard the night before. Or, rather she hummed with a peculiar dissonance the tune she thought she had heard.
“Not so bad—she has her good points. I wish I could have saved her the job of buying a lot of the things she’s been showing me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself—neither wind nor wave nor howling storm can stop her from dumping Horace’s money all over the place. There’s a glitter that springs to the eyes of shopkeepers all over Europe whenever Eulalia appears on the scene—they hustle to drag out all the junk they think they’ve been stuck with and unload it on her, telling her it’s genuine Rodin or Millet or whatever springs to their minds at the moment. Even Horace, who has twisted the tail of Wall Street dozens of times, is powerless before Eulalia—she’s irresistible when she sets out to do a thing—Gosh, here she comes!”
Some undefinable bond had sprung into being between them. By the time Mrs. Crosby had puffed her way around the room once or twice bearing armfuls of clothing into the bedroom beyond, they felt they had known each other much longer than the few minutes they had stood there.
“Let me take you wherever you’re going,” he asked her but she declined and hurried away. But when she reached her hotel in the Rue DuPhot that evening she found there had been three telephone calls from Mrs. Crosby. As she turned away from the desk determined to change her dress and slip away for a quiet meal alone, the telephone rang again and she heard the girl say: “Yes, Mam’selle Daquin has just come—I’ll connect you at once!” Fearing it might be Mrs. Crosby, Mimi went to the telephone and found her fears well-grounded. Even through the machine one got a distinct sense of gushing good will, of sweetness and light.
“My dear, I was so afraid I’d never get you—we’re having dinner tonight—just a little comfy party of us—and you must come—I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. All the shops are closed now and you can’t work all the time, it’s not good for any of us—‘all work and no play,’ you remember. …” Mrs. Crosby’s voice was laden with little unexpected thrills and flute-like runs that she fancied were quite cute and fascinating. She never got out of practice, for she generously bestowed the silveriness of her tones on male and female alike, even on the servants, who could not as easily flee from them. Mimi knew she would go even as she felt herself a spineless sycophant as she agreed. Hardly had she washed her face before the car was announced. She got some small satisfaction from seeing the new respect on the faces of the hotel attendants as they looked with awe upon the lavender Rolls-Royce with its shining silver trimmings and silken upholstery.
She knew Forrester would be in the car, having sensed that he had been responsible for the dinner invitation. As they were whirled through the Boulevard Madeleine and down the Rue Royal to Maxim’s she listened to Mrs. Crosby’s cooing exclamations of pleasure that she had accepted, while she watched the rounded broadness of Mr. Crosby’s back and the straight lines of Forrester’s in the seats in front of them.
“Jimmie went quite mad about you this afternoon,” Mrs. Crosby whispered as she sought to maintain her perilous balance while the car slithered around corners and came to an abrupt stop. “Raved about you, my dear—said you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. You should be proud—there have been loads of women who’ve run their fool heads off after him and he never even looked at them.”
Mimi was not at all certain that Forrester had said all this, nor even that he had been the hard-hearted, stern woman-dodger Mrs. Crosby tried to make of him. But she did notice that he managed to bring his chair as close to hers as he could and that he took advantage of every occasion, which were not few, to say meaningless little things in a confidential tone, when Mrs. Crosby became interested with little squeals, as some acquaintance was spied in another part of the dining-room. His manner was entirely open but the way in which he said these things seemed to imply that they had a bond of understanding between them, a bond secret and very precious. This disturbed Mimi in a way she could not explain even to herself. Jimmie Forrester interested her, there was something intangible about him that made her afraid of herself. Once he leaned over as Mrs. Crosby was excitedly pointing out a friend who had just entered. “You are more beautiful now than you were even this afternoon!” he whispered. The remark was not brilliant nor was it one she had not heard before. But it made queer little tingles chase each other through her, she felt herself blushing as though she were a girl of sixteen.
“Don’t be silly,” she admonished herself. “You’d be a pretty fool to let yourself get interested. It’s hopeless. It can’t lead anywhere but to bitterness and disappointment. Keep your head! Keep your head!”
She gave herself this sage advice and found herself promptly disregarding it. She was glad when the dinner was over and she escaped, pleading headache and weariness. Safe in her room, she tried to shake Jimmie Forrester’s mismated eyes and crooked teeth from her mind. She failed. She was afraid—terribly afraid. She knew it was folly, suicide, madness. But the vision persisted. For years she had in an indefinite way been lonely, had wanted the
