Jean still stood close to Philip, almost touching him, but after a few bars she forgot him, the crowded rooms, the too strong fragrance of expensive flowers. She forgot that she did not really like Tony, petted and spoiled by over-attention. She did not see the look of satisfied accomplishment on Catherine's face, nor Felix Arhn scowling his deepest foreign scowl of approval; nor Mrs. Dalton sitting quietly, her jeweled hands in her lap. She did not even hear the music distinctly. It created about her a medium into which she dissolved in feeling; and when her brain registered, it was not notes or present impressions, but memories of the first happy days with Herrick, and deep moments of love with Gregory. Her face softened, so that Philip, stealing glances, felt his throat tighten, and his eyes were hot and moist. He wanted the music to go on forever, to keep Jean close with that look on her face. And he ached for it to stop, before his hands should reach to her. When it stopped, Jean would be again the hard, clear-headed woman who scorned him and tried so hard sometimes not to show it. He had hated her often for her conceited assumption of superiority, but he knew now that he could never hate her again. That slightly quivering mouth had taken his weapons from him.
The music ended. Philip turned to Jean, but she was acknowledging the efforts of a tall man with gray hair and smiling eyes to negotiate the buzzing groups and reach her. In another instant Jean was introducing him.
"Mr. Fletcher, let me present Jerome Stuart."
As they shook hands, Philip felt Jerome size him up and dismiss him. For a few moments Philip stood where he was and then, unnoticed either by Jean or Jerome, moved away.
Tony played twice more and when he laid aside his violin, Jean and Jerome looked quietly at each other.
"It makes me feel like two cents," Jerome whispered and Jean nodded.
"It's usually the way, isn't it?"
"Nearly always, I haven't enough conceit left even to tease Alice. I shall confess."
"Come and do it now. I should like to hear you——"
But, before they could reach Alice, Mrs. Dalton spied Jean and billowed down upon her. In vain Jean tried to insert Jerome between them, dragging in every public effort in which he had been concerned for the last year. Mrs. Dalton heard none of it. Catherine was right. She had not forgotten her sociological days.