Part 47 (2/2)

But she was not to be put off.

”They treat me as if I had done something disgraceful!” she said indignantly. ”My allowance is just half what it used to be, and yet I have to pay all my own expenses. As for clothes, I never was so shabby in my life. But I can stand that. It's grandmother's silence that I resent.

How can she pretend to care for me when she ignores my letters and treats me with perfect indifference?”

Hurt pride quivered through the anger in her voice, and she looked at Quin appealingly. Stung by his silence, she burst out afresh:

”Doesn't she ever ask about me? Has she let me go for good and all?”

”Wasn't that what you wanted?”

”You _know_ it wasn't! I did everything to get her consent. I'd--I'd give anything now if she would look at things differently. Do you think, when she finds out that I am actually on the stage, that she will ever forgive me--that she will ever want me to come home again?”

That was the moment when Quin should have delivered Madam's ultimatum; but, before he had the chance, a key was turned in the lock, and the next instant Claude Martel's effulgent presence filled the room.

For a moment he stood poised lightly, consciously, his cane and gloves in one hand, and his soft felt hat turned gracefully across the other. On his ankles were immaculate white spats, and in his b.u.t.tonhole blossomed the inevitable rose.

”Quinby Graham!” he cried in accents of rapture. ”My Ca.s.sius's beloved Quin! _My_ beloved Quin! What happy fortune blew you hither? But no matter. You are here--you are ours. Eleanor and I are going out to a studio party at a dear, dear friend's. You shall accompany us!”

”Oh, no, Papa Claude,” protested Eleanor. ”Quin doesn't want to go to Miss Linton's messy old party. Neither do I. You go and leave us here.

There are a million things I want to ask him.”

But Papa Claude would not consider it. ”You can ask them to-morrow,” he said. ”To-night I claim you both. We will introduce Quinby as one of the gallant heroes of the Great War. I shall tell his story--no--he shall tell it! Come, put on your hat, Eleanor; we must start at once.”

”But here! Hold on!” protested Quin, laughing and freeing himself from Papa Claude's encircling arm, ”I'm not fixed to go to a party, and I haven't got any story to tell. I'll clear out and come back to-morrow.”

”No, no!” protested Eleanor and Papa Claude in a breath, and after a brief struggle for supremacy the latter triumphantly continued:

”I promise you shall say nothing, if you prefer it. Modesty is gallantry's crowning grace. But you _must_ accompany us. My heart is set upon it.

Eleanor darling, here's your wrap. Come, Quinby, my boy!” And the dynamic little gentleman hooked an arm through each of theirs and, in spite of their protests, bore them triumphantly down the stairs and off to the party.

It was not until they had boarded a crowded downtown car and found themselves wedged in the aisle that Quin and Eleanor managed to have another word alone.

”It's a shame we had to come!” she pouted, looking up at him from under a tilted hat-brim that supported three dangling cherries.

”Where are we going?” he asked, thrilled by the discovery that her lips and the cherries matched.

”To a studio party down in Was.h.i.+ngton Square. Papa Claude is trying to get Estelle Linton to play the lead in 'Phantom Love.' You always meet all sorts of freaks at her parties.”

”I didn't come to New York to meet freaks.”

”What did you come for?”

”Shall I tell you?”

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