"Were you there?" she exclaimed. "What a silly question!" she added immediately, laughing. "What I meant to say was I was there. But, of course, it was quite impossible to find any one in such a crowd." Paul noticed with pleasure that the conversation on both sides assumed the fact of a positive rendezvous between them. Miss Brooke went on to chatter about the vernissage.
"I see this morning's Herald puts us down as a low lot. Its reporter must be very exigeant. In spite of our presence he insists the models gave the ton to the assembly."
"Were there many models present?" asked Paul. "I don't remember seeing any."
"There were quite enough of them to be noticeable. Perhaps you thought they were all countesses."
"I did have some such idea," he admitted. "I didn't know models dressed like countesses."
"They do when their artists take them to vernissage. Which affords food for reflection."
Paul felt slightly embarrassed and did not answer.
"And now," resumed Miss Brooke, contemplating her cœur à la crême, "if I may venture to intrude on your reflections, will you please pass me the sugar?"
"Is it long since you returned?" he inquired soon. "I was going to ask you before, only the cervelle puzzle arose and somehow I forgot."
"Just three weeks," she replied. "Poppa had his bigger salary, and as it was getting tedious seeing couples married I made haste to come over again. You can't imagine how impatient I was to get back in time for vernissage. It gives such a fillip to your ambitions to see crowds round your friends' pictures, and to read about them in the papers; it makes you realise your own powers, and sets you wondering why you hadn't dared to send something in. When you are tired of lamenting your folly you begin to admire your modesty, and of course you remember that modesty is the mark of true genius."