"William," interrupted Ethel, addressing the groom, "drive on."
And so they left us.
"Shall we go to lunch now?" I asked of Pembroke.
"Yes," rather dreamily I thought. "Do you know," with sudden animation, "she is a remarkably beautiful woman?"
"Yes, she is." After all, the sight of Phyllis had rather upset me.
"I had a glimpse of her in Vienna last winter," went on Pembroke. "I never knew who she was."
"Vienna!" I exclaimed.
"Yes. It was at a concert. Her face was indelibly graven on my memory. I asked a neighbor who she was, but when I went to point her out she was gone. I should like to see more of her."
So Gretchen had been in Vienna, and poor Hillars had never known!
I took Pembroke to the club that afternoon, and we dallied in the billiard room till time to dress for dinner. Dinner came. But Phyllis forgot to ask me about the story, at which I grew puzzled, considering what I know of woman's curiosity. And she devoted most of her time to Pembroke, who did not mind. Later we went to the theatre—some production of Gilbert and Sullivan. Whenever I glanced at Phyllis I fell to wondering how Gretchen would have looked in evening dress. Yes, Phyllis was certainly beautiful, uncommonly. For years I had worshipped at her shrine, and then—how little we know of the heart. I was rather abstracted during the performance, and many of my replies went wide the mark.