He gave a last critical look at himself, retied his tie, then caught up coat and hat, descended to the lobby and hurried out to the florist’s at the corner, where he bought two preposterously expensive bunches of roses. He paid for them with a thrill of satisfaction—for the first time in his life he was being foolish; he had cut loose from the moorings of common-sense; he had let himself go!
Flowers in hand, he hurried back to the hotel and presented himself at the door of Madame Ghita’s apartment.
He was entirely cool, now; quite himself; and was able to present the flowers to the ladies and exchange the usual greetings without a tremor. Only he suspected an uncanny discernment in the long look Madame Ghita gave him as she thanked him for the roses.
She was looking incredibly lovely in a clinging gown of dark, wine-coloured velvet, without ornamentation, and as she moved away from him to place the roses in a vase and order dinner to be served, he drank in again the exquisite grace of her figure, the queenly pose of her head, the regal way in which she moved. And a sudden shaft of fear struck through him. How could he hope to win a woman like that!
She came back in a moment, and motioned them to table.
“Let us sit down,” she said. “You here at my left, M. Selden; you at my right, M. Davis; you there, Cicette.”
As they took their seats Selden saw that she had placed one of his roses in her bosom, and his hands began to tremble a little, in spite of his efforts to control them. He was grateful that Davis was babbling away excitedly.
“It was great for you to come, old man,” he said; “perfectly gorgeous. Imagine a dinner with an empty place!”
Selden chilled at the words. Yes, it was true; he was there in another man’s place; this apartment was another man’s apartment; this woman....
He had an impulse to rise—to run away. It was not at table only he was seeking to take another man’s place. The thought was almost more than he could bear.