"Very well," he answered. "I am reckless. I will stay one day."
"Mother will be waiting to see you," said Helen, as they entered the hall. "She is your stanch supporter."
"She is a dear mother. I wish she were my own."
Each word he uttered now carried a hidden meaning, and some inner relenting, some sweet, secret concession which he dimly felt but dared not presume upon, gave her a girlish charm which she had never before worn in his eyes.
They took lunch together, seated at the same table in the same way, and yet not in the same spirit. He was less self-centred, less insistent. His winter of proved inefficiency, his sense of indebtedness to her, his all-controlling love for her gave him a new appeal. He was at once tender and humorous as he referred again to Alessandra.
"Well, now that my chief work of art is destroyed, I must begin again at the bottom. I have definitely given up all idea of following my profession. I am going to do specials for one of the weeklies. Anderson has interceded for me. I am to enter the ranks of the enemy. I am not sure but I ought to do a criticism of my own play to-morrow night."
She was thinking of other things. "Tell me of your people. Did you talk of me to them? What did they say of me?"
"They all think of you as a kind, middle-aged lady, who has been very good to a poor country boy."
She laughed. "How funny! Why should they think me so old?"
"They can't conceive how a mere girl can be so rich and powerful. How could they realize the reckless outpouring of gold which flows from those who seek pleasure to those who give it."