Part 32 (1/2)

He held out his hand, but she seemed in no hurry to let him go.

”You are very kind, Mr. Laverick. I would like to see you again very soon. You have heard me sing in Samson and Delilah?”

”Not yet, but I am hoping to very shortly.”

”To-night,” she declared, ”you must come to the Opera House. I leave a box for you at the door. Send me round a note that you are there, and it is possible that I may see you. It is against the rules, but for me there are no rules.”

Laverick hesitating, she leaned forward and looked into his face.

”You are doing something else?” she protested. ”You were, perhaps, thinking of taking out again the little girl with whom you were sitting last night?”

”I had half promised--”

”No, no!” she exclaimed, holding his hand tighter. ”She is not for you--that child. She is too young. She knows nothing. Better to leave her alone. She is not for a man of the world like you. Soon she would cease to amuse you. You would be dull and she would still care. Oh, there is so much tragedy in these things, Mr. Laverick--so much tragedy for the woman! It is she always who suffers. You will take my advice. You will leave that little girl alone.”

Laverick smiled.

”I am afraid,” said he, ”that I cannot promise that so quickly. You see, I have not known her long, but she has very few friends and I think that she would miss me. Perhaps,” he added, after a second's pause, ”I care for her too much.”

”It is not for you,” she answered scornfully, ”to care too much.

An Englishman, he cares never enough. A woman to him is something amusing,--his companion for a little of his spare time, something to be pleased about, to show off to his friends,--to share, even, the pa.s.sion of the moment. But an Englishman he does not care too much. He never cares enough. He does not know what it is to care enough.”

”Mademoiselle, there may be truth in what you say, and again there may not. We have the name, I know, of being cold lovers, but at least we are faithful.”

She held up her hand with a little grimace.

”Oh, how I do hate that word!” she exclaimed. ”Who is there, indeed, who wishes that you would be faithful? How much we poor women do suffer from that! Why can you never understand that a woman would be cared for very, very much, with all the strength and all the pa.s.sion you can conceive, but let it not last for too long. It gets weary. It gets stale. It is as you say,--the Englishman he cares very little, perhaps, but he cares always; and the woman, if she be an artiste and a woman, she tires. But good afternoon, Mr. Laverick!

I must not keep you here on the pavement talking of these frivolous matters. You come to-night?”

”You are very kind,” Laverick said. ”If I may come until eleven o'clock, it would give me the greatest pleasure.”

”As you will,” she declared. ”We shall see. I expect you, then.

You ask for your box.”

”If you wish it, certainly.”

She smiled and waved her hand.

”You will tell him, please,” she directed, ”to drive to Bond Street.”

Laverick re-entered his office, pausing for a minute to give his clerk instructions for the purchase of stocks for Mademoiselle Idiale. He had scarcely reached his own room when he was told that Mr. James Shepherd wished to speak to him for a moment upon the telephone. He took up the receiver.

”Who is it?” he asked.

”It is Shepherd,” was the answer. ”Is that Mr. Laverick?”

”Yes!”