XIII
The two hundred and fifty—less ten per cent—which an imaginary Mrs. Beamish had paid for the pleasure of not hearing Cassy sing, transported the girl who was not given to transports. These subsiding, she viewed the matter from its business aspect. She needed a frock, a wrap, a hat, gloves, shoes and certain things that are nowhere visible except in advertisements, shop-windows and extreme privacy. Also, her hair required tralalaing. Meanwhile, first and foremost, Lennox must be paid. The subsidy was not too much by a penny. These considerations occupied but an instant.
"When is it?" she asked the Tamburini, who, a moment before, had dumbfounded her with the money.
"When is what?" inquired the ex-star who already had forgotten Mrs. Beamish.
"Why, the concert!"
Carlotta Tamburini was dressed like a fat idol, in silk and false pearls. There the idolatry ceased. In her hand was an umbrella and on her head a hat of rose-leaves which a black topknot surmounted. About her shoulders was a feather boa. It seemed a bit mangy. Seated on Cassy's bed she looked at a window that gave on a wall. Cassy was standing. Behind Cassy was a door which the extinguished light had closed. Beyond, in the living-room, was the marquis. Anything that he did not hear would not hurt him.
"Oh, she'll let us know."
"What sort of a catamount is she?"
At that the former prima donna's imagination balked. But she got something out. "Nice enough. What do you care?"