“Madame Zabriski’s friends are called legion,” answered Mrs. Filmer; “but I am sure we know no one who is on driving terms with the proud old woman.”
“Nevertheless, it was a great friend of yours, Rose—in fact, it was Yanna Van Hoosen.”
Mrs. Filmer turned round and looked at her son with scornful incredulity. “The thing is absurd!” she said. “You have been mistaken. Miss Van Hoosen has quite a common face.”
“It was Yanna,” persisted Harry, sulkily. “I 133 should think I know Yanna when I see her. I have good reason to do so. Her face was clear as light against the winter gloom. I can tell you, it gave me a shock.”
“In the Zabriski carriage? I cannot understand it. Was Madame Zabriski with her?”
“I have never seen Madame Zabriski except at the opera. Women look different in their carriage wraps.”
“I am almost certain that I heard, or I read, that she had gone with a party to Florida. You are sure it was Miss Van Hoosen?”
“Positive.”
“Then,” said Rose, “I think Yanna is acting very strangely. Why has she not written to me? I sent her a long letter last week, and she has not answered it. However, I shall probably see her brother this evening, and he will tell me whatever there is to tell.”
Thus it happened that Antony received a smiling invitation that night into the Filmers’ opera box; and that he was translated into the seventh circle of delight by Rose’s amiability and preference. To other visitors she was delightfully cordial, but she kept Antony at her side, and treated him with a familiar confidence she gave to no one else. Even Mrs. Filmer was more polite. She had noticed between Antony and her daughter a very intimate and apparently interesting conversation, and she perceived that Rose was much impressed by its tenor; and that she treated her lover with an unusual consideration. It was therefore likely that something strange had occurred; and she wisely accommodated herself to the mood it had induced.