One or two people had come into the lounge for coffee after dinner, but they had left it again, and, at the moment, it was deserted save for Miss Mason and one other woman.
There was something about the woman that attracted her attention. It was not merely her beauty, but something in the graceful way in which she was sitting in her chair, and in her manner of speaking to the waiter who brought her coffee. Miss Mason found herself watching her. She liked the ivory whiteness of her skin, the vivid red-brown of her hair, and the expression in her eyes. Her dress, too, which was a curious deep blue, pleased her immensely.
Suddenly the woman looked up. She saw Miss Mason’s eyes fixed on her, and she smiled. There was something so frank and spontaneous about the smile that Miss Mason found herself smiling too.
“We have the place to ourselves,” said the woman. “Every one else has departed for different theatres. I should have gone myself if I hadn’t an appointment with a friend of mine.”
“Never been to a theatre in my life,” said Miss Mason. “Lack of opportunity, not prejudice.”
“If you really care to have the opportunity it is certain to present itself sooner or later,” replied the woman calmly. “It’s only a question of the intensity of wishing.”
Miss Mason leant a little forward.
“Doesn’t the opportunity sometimes arrive too late?”
The question was put almost involuntarily. It was one she had been asking herself for the last three-quarters of an hour—ever since her somewhat hurried exit from the dining-room; and the question did not refer merely to the opportunity of visiting the theatre. The woman understood.
“That raises rather a fine point of question,” she replied. “Can it be fairly said that one has been given the opportunity if it is truly impossible to accept it, which I imagine ‘too late’ would signify?”