"Not until three weeks next Monday," she replied. "Then, if you are good, and the production is not postponed, you may seat yourself in a box and make all the noise you like after the fall of the curtain. These are real holidays for me, except for the nuisance of rehearsals. You couldn't have come at a better time."
Sophy glanced at the clock.
"Well," she said, "I must show my respect to that most ancient of adages by taking my departure. I feel—"
"You will do nothing of the sort, child," Louise interrupted. "I want to interest you in the evolution of Mr. Strangewey."
"I don't feel that I am necessary," Sophy sighed. "Perhaps I might take him off your hands some evening when you are busy."
"On this first evening, at any rate," Louise insisted, "we are going to be a truly harmonious party of three."
"Of course, if you really mean it," Sophy remarked, resuming her seat, "and if I sha'n't make an enemy for life of Mr. Strangewey, I should love to come, too. Let's decide what to do with him, Louise."
For a moment the eyes of the two others met. Louise looked swiftly away, and John's heart gave a little leap. Was it possible that the same thought had been in her mind—to spend the evening quietly in that little room? Had she feared it?
"We must remember," Louise said calmly, "that a heavy responsibility rests upon us. It is his first night in London. What aspect of it shall we attempt to show him? Shall we make ourselves resplendent, put on our best manners and our most gorgeous gowns, and show him the world of starch and form and fashion from the prince's box at the opera? Or shall we transform ourselves into Bohemians, drink Chianti at our beloved Antonio's, eat Italian food in Soho, smoke long cigarettes, and take him to the Palace? Don't say a word, Sophy. It is not for us to choose."
"I am afraid that isn't any choice," John declared, his face falling. "I haven't any clothes except what you see me in."