He turned his head toward the little orchestra, which was playing a low and tremulous waltz tune.
"I want to believe," he said, "that you can listen to the music here and yet live upon the hilltops."
"You believe that it is possible?"
"I do indeed," he a.s.sured her. "Although my heart was almost sick with loneliness, I do not think that I should be here if I did not believe it. I have not come for anything else, for any lesser things, but to find--"
For once his courage failed him. For once, too, he failed to understand her expression. She had drawn back a little, her lips were quivering.
Sophy broke suddenly in upon that moment of suspended speech.
"I knew how it would be!" she exclaimed. "I leave you both alone for less than a minute, and there you sit, as grave as two owls. I ask you, now, is this the place to wander off into the clouds? When two people sit looking at each other as you were doing a minute ago, here in Luigi"s, at midnight, with champagne in their gla.s.ses, and a supper, ordered regardless of expense, on the table before them, they are either without the least sense of the fitness of things, or else--"
"Or else what?" Louise asked.
"Or else they are head over heels in love with each other!" Sophy concluded.
"Perhaps the child is right," Louise a.s.sented tolerantly, taking a peach from the basket by her side. "Evidently it is our duty to abandon ourselves to the frivolity of the moment. What shall we do to bring ourselves into accord with it? Everybody seems to be behaving most disgracefully. Do you think it would contribute to the gaiety of the evening if I were to join in the chorus of "You Made Me Love You," and Mr. Strangewey were to imitate the young gentleman at the next table and throw a roll, say, at that portly old gentleman with the highly polished shirt-front?"
"There is no need to go to extremes," Sophy protested. "Besides, we should get into trouble. The portly old gentleman happens to be one of the directors."
"Then we will just talk nonsense," Louise suggested.
"I am not very good at it," John sighed; "and there is so much I want to say that isn"t nonsense."
"You ought to be thankful all your life that you have met me and that I am disposed to take an interest in you," Sophy remarked, as she moved her chair a little nearer to John"s. "I am quite sure that in a very short time you would have become--well, almost a prig. Providence has selected me to work out your salvation."
"Providence has been very kind, then," John told her.
"I hope you mean it," she returned. "You ought to, if you only understood the importance of light-heartedness."
The lights were lowered a few minutes later, and John paid the bill.
"We"ve enjoyed our supper," Louise whispered, as they pa.s.sed down the room. "The whole evening has been delightful!"
"May I drive you home alone?" he asked bluntly.
"I am afraid we can"t desert Sophy," she replied, avoiding his eyes.
"She nearly always goes home with me. You see, although she seems quite a frivolous little person, she is really very useful to me--keeps my accounts, and all that sort of thing."
"And does her best," Sophy joined in, "to protect you against your ruinously extravagant habits!"
Louise laughed. They were standing in the little hall, and the commissionnaire was blowing his whistle for a taxi.
"I won"t be scolded to-night," she declared. "Come, you shall both of you drive home with me, and then Mr. Strangewey can drop you at your rooms on his way back."
Sophy made a little grimace and glanced up at John anxiously. He was looking very big and very grim.
"Shall you mind that?" she asked.
A slight plaintiveness in her tone dispelled his first disappointment.
After all, it was Louise"s decision.
"I will try to bear it cheerfully," he promised, smiling, as he handed them into the cab.
XII
As they drove from Luigi"s to Knightsbridge, Louise leaned back in her corner. Although her eyes were only half closed, there was an air of aloofness about her, an obvious lack of desire for conversation, which the others found themselves instinctively respecting. Even Sophy"s light-hearted chatter seemed to have deserted her, somewhat to John"s relief.
He sat back in his place, his eyes fixed upon Louise. He was so anxious to understand her in all her moods and vagaries. He was forced to admit to himself that she had deliberately chosen not to take any portion of that drive home alone with him. And yet, as he looked back through the evening, he told himself that he was satisfied. He declined to feel even a shadow of discouragement.
After a time he withdrew his eyes from her face and looked out upon the human panorama through which they were pa.s.sing.
They were in the very vortex of London"s midnight traffic. The night was warm for the time of year, and about Leicester Square and beyond the pavements were crowded with pedestrians, the women lightly and gaily clad, flitting, notwithstanding some sinister note about their movements, like b.u.t.terflies or bright-hued moths along the pavements and across the streets. The procession of taxicabs and automobiles, each with its human freight of men and women in evening dress on their way home after an evening"s pleasure, seemed endless.
Presently Sophy began to talk, and Louise, too, roused herself.
"I am only just beginning to realize," the latter said, "that you are actually in London."
"When I leave you," he replied, "I, too, shall find it hard to believe that we have actually met again and talked. There seems to be so much that I have to say," he added, looking at her closely, "and I have said nothing."
"There is plenty of time," she told him, and once more the signs of that slight nervousness were apparent in her manner. "There are weeks and months ahead of us."
"When shall I see you again?" he asked.
"Whenever you like. There are no rehearsals for a day or two. Ring me up on the telephone--you will find my number in the book--or come and lunch with me to-morrow, if you like."
"Thank you," he answered; "that is just what I should like. At what time?"
"Half past one. I will not ask either of you to come in now. You can come down to-morrow morning and get the books, Sophy. I think I am tired--tired," she added, with a curious little note of self-pity in her tone. "I am very glad to have seen you again, Mr. Strangewey," she said, lifting her eyes to his. "Good night!"
He helped her out, rang the bell, and watched her vanish through the swiftly opened door. Then he stepped back into the taxicab. Sophy retreated into the corner to make room for him.
"You are going to take me home, are you not?" she asked.
"Of course," he replied, his eyes still fixed with a shade of regret upon the closed door of Louise"s little house. "No. 10 Southampton Street," he told the driver.
They turned round and spun once more into the network of moving vehicles and streaming pedestrians. John was silent, and his companion, for a little while, humored him. Soon, however, she touched him on the arm.
"This is still your first night in London," she reminded him, "and there is to-morrow. You are going to lunch with her to-morrow. Won"t you talk to me, please?"
He shut the door upon a crowd of disturbing thoughts and fantastic imaginings, and smiled back at her. Her fingers remained upon his arm. A queer gravity had come into her dainty little face.
"Are you really in love with Louise?" she inquired, with something of his own directness.