Part 6 (1/2)
”There, my boy! Babette is one of us--one of the great company of the stars! Wonderful, how you find them at every turn! Babette, my sister, I salute you!”
She smiled and turned toward Deering.
”Are you, too, one of the Comrades of Perpetual Youth?” she inquired gravely.
”I am,” Deering declared heartily, and they smiled at each other; ”but I'm only a novice--a brother of the second cla.s.s.”
She shook her head.
”There can be no question of cla.s.ses in the great comrades.h.i.+p--either we are or we are not.”
”Well spoken!” Hood a.s.sented, pus.h.i.+ng back his chair and crossing his legs comfortably.
”And you--do you and Pierrette think about things the same way?” Deering asked.
”We do--by not thinking,” Babette replied. ”Thinking among the comrades is forbidden, is it not?”
”Absolutely,” Hood affirmed. ”Our young brother here is still a little weak in the faith, but he's taking to it splendidly.”
”I'm new myself,” Babette confessed.
”You're letter-perfect in the part,” said Hood. ”Perhaps you were driven to it? Don't answer if you would be embarra.s.sed by a confession.”
The girl pondered a moment; her face grew grave, and she played nervously with the sugar-tongs.
”A man loved me and I sent him away, and was sorry!” The last words fell from her lips falteringly.
”He will come back--if he is worthy of one of the comrades.h.i.+p,” said Hood consolingly. ”Even now he may be searching for you.”
”I was unkind to him; I was very hard on him! And I've been afraid--sometimes--that I should never see him again.”
Deering thought he saw a glint of tears in her eyes. She rose hastily and asked with a wavering smile:
”If there's nothing further----”
”Not food--if you mean that,” said Hood.
”But about Pierrette!” Deering exclaimed despairingly. ”If she's likely to come, we must wait for her.”
”I rather advise you against it,” the girl answered. ”I have no idea when she will come back.”
They rose instinctively as she pa.s.sed out. The door fanned a moment and was still.
”Well?” demanded Deering ironically.
”Please don't speak to me in that tone,” responded Hood. ”This was your breakfast, not mine; you needn't scold me if it didn't go to suit you!
Ah, what have we here!”
He had drawn back a curtain at one end of the dining-room, disclosing a studio beyond. It was evidently a practical workshop and bore traces of recent use. Deering pa.s.sed him and strode toward an easel that supported a canvas on which the paint was still wet. He cried out in astonishment:
”That's the moon girl--that's the girl I talked to last night--clown clothes and all! She's sitting on the wall there just as I found her.”