In this dilemma there was some slight consolation for her in the knowledge that it was not her fault, at least not her present fault, that she had been born with a nature so problematic. But the Vidyâ, in teaching her that whatever we suffer is derived from our past; that the people who wrong us—or seem to—are mere puppets come to claim karmic debts which we owe; the Vidyâ, in teaching her that taught her also that every life we lead here is but a day in school. Her schooling, she felt, had as yet been insufficient. No doubt she would know better when she came here again.
The thin gilt hope of that fortified her a little on this day when, to Barouffski’s surprise, she sent for him and then, her head raised, said distantly:
“The Helley-Quetgens have asked us to the Opéra. I am going. You are free to do as you like.”
Here, obviously, was something new. At it and at her Barouffski looked with shifting eyes. Uncertainly he rubbed his hands.
“But how then! I am at your orders. It is a festival to be where you are.”
But as he did nothing without an object, he wondered what hers was. Obviously, there was a reason. Yet, what? Could it be an olive branch? He was too adroit to ask. Even otherwise, he lacked the opportunity. Leilah had gone from the room.
It was in these circumstances that, on this night, she appeared at the Opéra where Violet was complaining at having seen her with d’Arcy.
At the complaint, Silverstairs pulled at his moustache.
“I did not know that she had taken up with him.”
“I don’t know that she has either. But she was with him to-day in the Champs Elysées.”