But now, to the volatile sweetmeats of the score, the curtain was falling. In the stalls there was a movement. Men stood up, put their hats on, turned their back to the stage or set forth for a chat with the vestals in the green room.
Silverstairs also stood up.
Violet turned to him:
“I do wish you would look in on the Helley-Quetgens, and ask Leilah to come to luncheon to-morrow. Say I have a bone to pick with her. That may fetch her, if nothing else will.”
Tempest ran a hand through his vivid hair.
“A bone over what, if I may ask? You may not know it, but I greatly admire Madame Barouffska.”
Violet smiled.
“She’s a dear. But I saw her to-day with d’Arcy, and I propose to scold her for it.”
Tempest showed his teeth.
“D’Arcy is not a man’s man, though he certainly is a woman’s. Yet, when you come to that, not such a woman as Madame Barouffska. What an odd thing that was about her first husband!”