Mrs. Nevins picked her way through the transformed ballroom past decorators and carpenters, more like the sprightly Queen of Trianon at her amusements than ever. Her white curly hair was dressed in high waves, her house-gown of black chiffon velvet trailing behind her, and one bewildered Pekinese dog trying to rest itself on her train whenever she paused.
“My dear Griff, it is wonderful the progress you have made!” she exclaimed. “Nathalie is completely enthralled over her rôle. Such a tender, appealing little part, isn’t it? One feels she is merely the toy of fate, torn from her love by the caprice of the princess. I have spoken to Casanova of the operetta and he has half promised to come out. Such a delightful and distinguished audience for your first effort, the Italian ambassador and his wife, Ogden Ward, Count and Countess Triolini, court painter to Humbert years ago, and Count Jurka, who was court chamberlain to the unhappy Queen Sophia. The most charming and unexpected sequence of this fearful war business has been the eager willingness of one-time enemies to coöperate now in these little relief funds. We must all pull together, mustn’t we, and forget now. Jurka is the handsomest thing you ever saw; looks like a Zenda hero and all that sort of thing. He is studying our relief methods for the rehabilitation of the wounded, a special mission for the exiled queen; so dear of her, isn’t it?”
Carlota, sitting behind them, heard without noting the names. Her mind was on Nathalie and her assumption of authority over Ames. It was impossible for her to avoid seeing it. She had watched them together constantly. Nathalie was beside him all the time, consulting, directing, planning on every detail. She called him by his nickname with a little, indolent proprietary intonation that enraged Carlota. Yet she had kept her temper, and had sung her own rôle with ease and surety.
“Are you quite sure,” Nathalie had asked her, “that your gown will be of the period and quite appropriate? It is too bad you could not have worn it to-day so we might be certain. You understand, of course, mamma would be only too pleased to secure exactly the right one for you if you wish.”
“It is most kind of you,” smiled back Carlota serenely. “I have my gown. It is of the period and suitable for the princess.”
“What name did you wish on the programme? I didn’t quite catch it, and we are correcting the last proof on them to-day.”
Carlota thought quickly and gave her new name with a flash of mischief.
“Paola Roma.”
“Oh, yes, you are really Italian, aren’t you? How interesting! Griff told us that you had given him the little story that inspired the operetta.” Nathalie’s slim fingers were busy with her hair, puffing out the soft blond strands until it looked bobbed. “Of course,” she added thoughtfully, “it’s one thing to give the idea, but quite another to have made it a reality, isn’t it?”
“I do not consider this a reality of Mr. Ames’s hopes or inspiration.” Carlota’s heavy-lidded eyes glanced over the ballroom interior as if it had been the side-show of some carnival. “This is really nothing but a dress rehearsal from start to finish for him. The reality will be at the grand opera itself next year.”