Part 20 (2/2)

”I wonder why that should be,” she said.

”What do you mean?” Riatt asked, but at that moment they drew up before the Thirty-ninth Street entrance, and the doorman, opening the motor's door, shouted ”Ten--Forty-five”--a cheerful lie he has been telling four times a week for many years.

In the opera box, Riatt at once seated himself behind Christine. There is no place like the opera for public devotion. Christine was resplendent in black and gold with a huge black and gold fan that made the fans of the temple dancers--the opera was ”Ada”--look commonplace and ineffective.

Behind it she now murmured to Max:

”And what poisonous thing did dear Nancy tell you coming down?”

”Nothing--except what everyone has been telling me for the last few days--that I seemed very much in love.”

”And that annoyed you, I suppose.”

”On the contrary. I was delighted to find I was such a good actor.”

”People who pretend to be asleep sometimes end by actually doing it.

Pretending is rather dangerous sometimes.”

”Yes, but you see I shan't have to pretend after to-morrow.”

”Are you all packed and ready?”

”Mentally I am.”

In the _entr'acte_ which followed quickly after their entrance, Christine dismissed him very politely. ”There,” she said, ”you don't have to stay on duty all the time. You can go and stretch your legs, if you want.”

He rose at once, and as he did so, Linburne slipped into his place.

Riatt had caught sight of Laura Ussher across the house, and knew his duty demanded that he should go and say a word to his exuberant cousin who, he supposed, regarded herself as the artificer of his happiness.

”Oh, my dear Max,” she began, hastily bundling out an old friend who had been reminiscing about the days of the de Rezskes, and waving Riatt into place, ”every one is so delighted at the engagement, and thinks you both so fortunate. How happy she is, Max! She looks like a different person.”

”I thought she looked rather tired this evening,” answered Riatt, who always found himself perverse in face of Laura's enthusiasm.

Mrs. Ussher raised her opera gla.s.s and studied Christine's profile, bent slightly toward Linburne, who was talking with the immobility of feature which many people use when saying things in public which they don't wish overheard. ”Oh, well, she doesn't look as brilliant as she did when _you_ were with her. But isn't that natural? I wonder why Nancy asked Lee Linburne and where is that silly little wife of his. Oh, don't go, Max.

It's only the St. Anna attache; we met him on the coast last summer.”

But Riatt insisted on making way for the South American diplomat, who was standing courteously in the back of the box.

He wandered out into the corridors, not enough interested in any of his recent acquaintances to go and speak to them. Two men coming up behind him were talking; he could not help hearing their dialogue:

”Who's this fellow she's engaged to?”

”No one knows--a Western chap with a lot of money.”

”Suppose she cares anything about him?”

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