True, the wine may have had something to do with it. It usually does. A beguiling lubricant is this thing that gets into the rustiest of brains and produces a smooth combination of thought and thoughtlessness. In any case, tongues wagged loosely and wits were never keener than in this atmosphere of ripe security. A good many secrets were out for an airing. They were supposed, in good time, to get back into their closets and lie there as snugly as if they had never been disturbed.
Mrs. Carstairs was never more brilliant than on this particular evening. Always clever,—but never witty,—she was at her best when surrounded by personalities such as these; when confronted by problems which permitted her profound mentality to rise to its highest level and her singularly clear-headed vision to project itself across spaces that defy even the most far-seeing of men. She went below the surface of everything; she saw nothing from a superficial point of view. What men liked in her, and what other women envied and sometimes hated, was the rare faculty of saying little unless she was prepared to say a great deal more.
More than one great statesman had said, on occasion, that it was too bad she wasn't a man! With a mind like that, well, there's no telling! No wonder Davenport Carstairs was proud of her!
And yet, with all this unstinted praise, with all this respectful admiration, there was not a man among them who would have exchanged places with Davenport Carstairs. Despite her beauty, her no uncertain charm of manner, her strangely old-fashioned femininity, no man coveted her. As a matter of fact, they were a little bit awed by Frieda Carstairs.
The foreign ambassador was leaving early. He explained to his hostess that a very important conference was to be held that night in his rooms at the hotel. He was profoundly apologetic, but if she knew how much depended on the outcome of this very, very important meeting,—and so on, and so on. She said she understood perfectly; affairs of state, she went on to say, always lead up to a state of affairs, and that, of course, was hopeless unless taken in time.
He was a little bewildered. Fearing that she had not fully grasped his meaning, he proceeded to elaborate a little. It wasn't really a state of affairs, nor, for that matter, an affair of state. Time, of course,—yes, time was the essence of everything in these bitter days. She was quite right; the whole trouble with the Allies had been the wasting of time; now they realized the importance of doing things promptly. She said she was glad that they were not letting the grass grow under their feet. He mumbled something about winter and the nothing much growing outside the tropics, and floundered with further confidences.
Leaning quite close to her he whispered something in her ear. It left her perfectly calm.
“This, you understand, my dear madam, is not to be repeated,—strictly confidential,—absolutely—ah—on the quiet, as you say over here.”
“I sha'n't even repeat it to my husband,” said she.
The ambassador looked relieved. “I fear he would not approve of my mentioning a matter that he seems to have withheld from you himself.”