“By the way,” he began, “the house has received a new allotment of bonds; I want to tell you about them.”
He had his facts well in hand, and he spoke with conviction and an unconventionality of expression that made her listen. She knew a good salesman when she heard one, whether she was familiar with the particular subject-matter or not. The quality of salesmanship really had nothing to do with the subject-matter. A good salesman can sell anything. It has rather to do with that unknown gift which distinguishes an actor able to pack a house from an actor with every other quality able only to half fill a house. It has nothing to do with general intelligence; it has nothing to do with conscientious preparation; it has nothing to do with anything but itself. It corresponds to what in a woman is called charm, and which may go with a pug nose or freckles or a large mouth. But it cannot be cultivated. It either is or is not.
It was the mushrooms and steak that interrupted him. Jacques was trying to draw his attention to the sizzling hot platter which he 119 was holding for his inspection––a work of art in brown and green. Ordinarily Monsieur Pendleton took some time to appreciate his efforts. Now he merely nodded:––
“Good.”
Jacques was somewhat disappointed.
“Madame sees it?” he ventured.
Madame, who was sitting with her chin in her hands, staring across the table at Monsieur, started.
“Yes,” she smiled. “It is beautiful.”
But, when Jacques turned away to carve, she continued to stare again at Mr. Pendleton.