“No. But Doctor Pryne is tired of talking to just me. Come on in and play with us.”
Lewis got up and stood by the fire. Petra came and stood irresolutely near him, at a loss and waiting for Clare to lead the “play,” whatever it was to be. But Clare wandered toward the French doors and stood, her back half turned, looking out onto the moonlight road. No one said anything. Lewis had no intention of “playing.” He was swearing angry. Clare turned her head after a minute’s silence, during which the three of them—Lewis, Petra, Dick—had stayed watching her, turned her head and looked at Dick over her shoulder. Then she stepped out into the moonlight.
Harry, oblivious that his dancers no longer existed, that the frail dream had broken, went on pouring out jazz. Dick had followed Clare, of course. He went as naturally and with as little fuss as if he were her shadow. Lewis and Petra were left, silent, by the fire.
Neither of them had a thing to say. The clock ticked,—an elegant little glass clock with glass flowers for dials, on the mantel near them. Then they heard Cynthia’s voice out in the moonlight. “You’ll need a scarf, Clare dear. There’s an autumn tang.”
“Oh, no. The moonlight’s warm! We’ll be right back. Get out the cards, Lowell, and since your heart is set on it, we’ll have some poker.”
But before Farwell and Cynthia came in through the French doors, Lewis had said quickly to Petra, “My darling, you mustn’t mind. Dick’s such a fool he’s not worth your little finger.”
That brought Petra’s face around to Lewis’. She took hold of the high carved back of a chair between them. Took hold hard. Eyes, lips,—suddenly they had become the attentive eyes of her childhood, looking outward onto a wonder-filled world. The unsullen lips of her childhood sweetly parted with expectant breath. For just that instant it might have been Petra back in the Cambridge apartment three years ago.
But unfortunately Lewis was totally unaware that “my darling” had come from his lips at all. He had no cue to the transformation. And then Cynthia and Farwell joined them and Farwell was getting out the cards. He sent Petra for a table. But as she started to obey, she was intercepted by Elise in the doorway. Petra was wanted on the telephone.
“Who is it?” Farwell called after his daughter. “It can’t be important. Why do you bother?”
The maid answered, not Petra. “He didn’t give his name, sir. But he said it was very important.”