“Hush, Vin. Come, get up.”
Turning, John saw Mrs. Hutton steady Seff to his feet.
An imperative voice at his own elbow advised: “Better come with me at once, John, unless you wish to get into the newspapers.”
“That is just what I do wish, Catherine,” he said.
“But as the protector of this latest Inconnue?”
“Unknown?” John glanced at his wife surprisedly, then on to the wall against which the manikin had stood.
Gone was the luring vision which his mother had taught him to believe was the soul of womanhood. Gone also the girl.
His sense of loss must have shown in his face.
“Why not play Don Quixote for some one more ambitious?” Catherine gibed. “Ask me to nominate them—as your wife I could choose the subjects with regard to the family honor and glory. I tell you there are reporters in that crowd. Once they recognize you——”
“Reporters?” He took a step toward the crush. “Publicity—that’s the cure for this scourge. Where are they?”