He shook his head until a black lock fell over his pale forehead. "I did not. It was finished by the glorified cabinet-maker I employ: it appeared in the window of my place. You must see my place, now your rehearsals are over! You will want beauty to rest your mind—and you will want Me to design your dresses! An hour later the table was snapped up—gone from me forever."
"Ah, but who snapped it?"
Herté looked blank. "Your admiring friend, who knew it belonged, by right of beauty, to you."
"Thanks! But I want you to tell me his—or her—name."
"Are you not acquainted with so much of him?"
"I'm not. And I'm dying to be, because the gentleman is anonymous—a great unknown!"
"I am sure he is great, as a judge of art and ladies. But that is all I am sure of, beautiful Dolores."
"Monsieur Herté, you are hiding his secret!"
"I could hide no secret from you. I will tell you all I know. A boy messenger bought the table. A millionaire's boy messenger, perhaps! My manager informed me what had happened. We guessed at once there was a mystery."
"Couldn't you find out?" Marise persisted.