"He's not here—he's in New York."
"Feverishly adding to a fortune already monstrous?"
"No; not precisely monstrous. The Marvells are not well off," said
Bowen, amused by his friend's interrogations.
"And he allows an exquisite being like that to come to Paris without him—and in company with the red-faced gentleman who seems so alive to his advantages?"
"We don't 'allow' our women this or that; I don't think we set much store by the compulsory virtues."
His companion received this with amusement. "If: you're as detached as that, why does the obsolete institution of marriage survive with you?"
"Oh, it still has its uses. One couldn't be divorced without it."
Chelles laughed again; but his straying eye still followed the same direction, and Bowen noticed that the fact was not unremarked by the object of his contemplation. Undine's party was one of the liveliest in the room: the American laugh rose above the din of the orchestra as the American toilets dominated the less daring effects at the other tables. Undine, on entering, had seemed to be in the same mood as her companions; but Bowen saw that, as she became conscious of his friend's observation, she isolated herself in a kind of soft abstraction; and he admired the adaptability which enabled her to draw from such surroundings the contrasting graces of reserve.
They had greeted each other with all the outer signs of cordiality, but Bowen fancied she would not care to have him speak to her. She was evidently dining with Van Degen, and Van Degen's proximity was the last fact she would wish to have transmitted to the critics in Washington Square. Bowen was therefore surprised when, as he rose to leave the restaurant, he heard himself hailed by Peter.
"Hallo—hold on! When did you come over? Mrs. Marvell's dying for the last news about the old homestead."