"Of what use is it," says Chandos, quietly, "if Miss Beatoun declines to act with me?"
"Acting with you has nothing to do with it," returns Bebe, reddening perceptibly. "I only decline the 'old clo' part of it. Consider how it hurts my vanity."
"Yet you would have worn them had Sir Mark kept his word," I say, in an injured tone.
At this Lord Chandos looks expressively at Miss Beatoun, Miss Beatoun looks witheringly at me, and Marmaduke, utterly innocent, says persuasively:—-
"Come now, Bebe, that's conclusive. Chandos will think you have some reason for it if you persist in refusing."
At this unfortunate remark even I feel some dismay. Considering all that has passed between these two, and the nature of the tableau in question, it is unfortunate. Chandos and Bebe color violently; the latter's fingers close with nervous force upon the pretty short gown she is wearing and crumple it recklessly. The loose cambric kerchief on her breast rises and falls with angry motion. Chandos is evidently furious.
"I shall think nothing of the kind," he says, in a low, distinct tone. "Miss Beatoun should be allowed to please herself. For my part, I think it an odious scene and hackneyed to the last degree."
"Still, as it is on the cards—-" I murmur, weakly.
Marmaduke stares at me in wonderment, and then at Harriet, who is also listening. We are every one of us thoroughly unpleasant.
Bebe laughs a rather forced laugh. "I wonder what our friends in the dress circle are thinking all this time?" she says. "Lord Chandos, go and put on your things and don't let us keep them waiting any longer."