It was an enormous success; and all the time Ned Blackborough was wondering what had become of Aura, whither she had gone. Only once did he get a glimpse of what he had known in the past, and that was when, after Miss Hirsch had sung like a second-class professional (in other words like her mother) to his accompaniment, he had asked Aura if he might not accompany her also.
"My dear Blackborough," Ted had exclaimed, "after such singing as Miss Hirsch has just given us, I'm sure my wife would hardly like----"
"But I should like," he had interrupted imperturbably.
Then it was that Aura had said swiftly in an undertone--
"Please don't."
He had obeyed, as he had obeyed the same order once before. But that night he sat up again and drank whisky and water and smoked opium-sodden cigarettes, and the next day he went down to call, for he did not intend that sort of thing should go on.
She did not intend it should either. He found her in the back garden, which was really quite of a decent size, busy planting something between the prim privets, and eunonyms and variegated hollies which, even in this late autumn, gave the wall-surrounding shrubbery a semblance of green.
"Do you know what I am planting?" she asked frankly. "I am planting some iris alata."
He narrowed his eyes and looked at her.
"Hardly in the most beautiful place in the world," he said cynically.