CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Above the murmur of talk of his guests, Lorimer's voice rose, high and clear, merry as the voice of a happy child.
"It's a great night for you, Arlt, the night of your life. Ladies and ge'men, le's drink to Mr. Arlt."
"You've done it once, Lorimer," Thayer interposed. "Arlt will be getting more than is good for him."
"And so will you," he might have added; but there seemed to him a certain impossibility in imposing a check upon a man in his own house and in the presence of his own guests.
Lorimer laughed out blithely.
"Ne' mind. Arlt can stand it; his head is level. B'sides, las' time, I drank to Arlt the composer. This time, it's to Arlt the accompanist. He hasn' any business to play a double rôle, if he can' stan' the double applause. To the success of Mr. Otto Arlt!"
Thayer raised his glass and set it down again, untasted. As he glanced across at Arlt with an explanatory smile, he caught the eyes of Beatrix fixed upon him imploringly. It was evident that she was putting her hope in him to end the scene; but for the once Thayer was ready to confess himself beaten. The house and the champagne both were Lorimer's. Under these conditions, he was powerless to act. Moreover, he felt a sudden impatience with Beatrix for allowing the champagne in her own home, when she had learned from months of bitter experience that a single glass could render Lorimer totally untrustworthy. If this were the measure of her influence for good, she might as well have married Lorimer in the first place, without insisting upon those long months of probation. As he had watched the progress of that merry supper in Arlt's honor, Thayer had been distressed about Lorimer and about the scene which must inevitably follow; but his distress had been as nothing in comparison with his disappointment in Beatrix.
In reality, Beatrix had had no responsibility in the matter.
"I don't see any need of our having champagne, Sidney," she had said, on the morning that they had first discussed the detail of the supper.