Ward did not pick up the opening. Sauntering away from the club up the Avenue, the Marchese pondered later, not upon the Zarathustra ruby, but on Ward’s invitation. At first he hesitated at a crossing, wishing he might talk it over with Maria, but finally contenting himself with telephoning to her. Carlota caught the rising inflection of exultation as Maria accepted for them both.
“Certainly I’m well enough to go,” she cried; then, hanging up the receiver, “Ah, beloved child, you do not understand the conquest you have made already. But it will not do to appear too eager. You must learn to act like your grandmother, distant, gracious, always the queen.”
But Carlota was supremely indifferent to the favor shown her by Ward. For weeks she had been full of strange, gay little moods and sudden, tempestuous caresses that left Maria breathless and speculative. She smiled over her shoulder now, brushing her long dark curls before the Venetian mirror.
“Surely, bella mia”—Signora Roma spoke with emphasis—“surely you comprehend what this means to your progress. There are yet two years before you, possibly more, before you make your début. Therefore, you must be diplomatic and save your independence until you are assured that the race is won. You must appear perfect at Mr. Ward’s dinner. I will dress you like the starlight, like the pearl from the sea, très ingénue, so he will see the great sensation you will make.”
Carlota laughed teasingly.
“I would love to make my début in some splendid barbaric opera, where I could wear cloth of gold and armlets, bangles. I wish I could sing Semiramide at the very beginning, or Fedora, and you, you adorable old tanta, will probably persuade Jacobelli to make me bow as Juliette or Marguerite.”
“The Veronese are very dark like you, and, thank God, you will still be slender and maiden-like,” sighed Maria reflectively. “It is a wonderful opportunity to impress Mr. Ward. You had better effect Juliette that night.”
“I don’t like this thing you call opportunity. I like, as the Marchese says, what is to be will be. I like the inevitable. It must have been delightful to feel your destiny was written in the stars.” She pinned her hair up carelessly. “Mr. Ward is the only person from whom we have been compelled to borrow money. He will be repaid amply—in money.”
“Only a person who could appreciate the priceless value of such a voice as yours could have had such faith. He is the greatest patron of the arts in the world—”
“I hate patronage. It simply means that he can pay the highest price for what he desires, that is all.” Carlota turned to her stormily.