“My friend, do you know what Scott Roberts has just said to me? Mr. Keene will do well to transplant that diamond to the ‘Coliseum.’”
The actor’s eyes flashed, but he said curtly—
“I say nothing, for I do not know myself. Miss Winstanley is only an amateur at present.”
Later on when the guests had all departed Carroll, who had been enjoying a cigar, strolled up to Keene, who was making his adieux to Muriel and his hostess.
“Do not hurry, Keene, have a cigar in the library, the ladies will not object to two smokers, and they can stand umpires.”
“Why?” laughed the other, as he looked for Mrs. Carroll’s permission before lighting up.
“You know the misery I have endured for the last year with inefficient secretaries,” said the novelist, with mock indignation; “my hair nearly turned white with worry. You introduce a pearl beyond price to me, and when I begin to breathe freely—it’s perfectly monstrous, Keene. You are going to turn her into a Ristori, and leave me to my misery again.”
“My dear fellow,” the other rejoined, laughing; “can I or any other man make a Ristori out of a nonentity? Miss Winstanley’s inner consciousness told her long ago in what direction her talent lay, and Gray Leighton confirmed her. I have done nothing but test my friend’s pupil—and I find what I expected.”
“She is too good to be kept back,” Mrs. Carroll said, kissing Muriel, who was flushing and trying to escape. “Much as I regret it in one way, for we shall be the losers, it would be unfair to attempt to dissuade her. And you know, Colin, that Mr. Keene told us from the first——” she stopped, laughing. “The mischief is out; forgive me for my indiscretion.”
Muriel had turned quickly to the actor, her eyes sparkling.