“I’ll ask Mother if I may take part,” replied Evelyn, glad of an opportunity to make the conversation general. She recalled her confidences of the morning to La Montagne regarding Palmer, and to flaunt an apparent flirtation in the face of her French lover was repugnant to her frank and loyal nature. “All fashionable Washington is taking part in the benefit, Mr. Maynard; won’t you help us?”
“I certainly will.” Maynard smiled at the enthusiasm with which she put the question. “Why not give me a part?”
“You!” Evelyn’s eyes opened wide. “My goodness, we would be afraid to act with you—the girls would all be stricken dumb.”
“Let me have the mute’s part,” laughed Maynard. “Really, I am not so terrifying, am I?” appealing directly to Marian.
“Not so very,” she responded a trifle absently. “The play is trite, some society hodge-podge and not—not,” she stumbled in her speech and continued quickly, “not worthy your histrionic talent, Mr. Maynard, but there is a tableau which, if you would undertake, would be a great drawing card.”
“Put me down for it,” declared Maynard. “And let me know the hours of rehearsal. How about you, Palmer; are you doing your bit in the benefit?”
“I’m helping with the stage effects.” Palmer shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “Not much work there, for the local theaters have loaned all necessary scenery.”
“What part have you planned for me, Madame Van Ness?” asked La Montagne while his eyes eagerly sought Evelyn, who answered his question with a saucy smile.
“I hear you are to sing the ‘Marseillaise,’” she said. “Now, don’t refuse.”
“Refuse? I?” La Montagne would have risen and gone to her, but the pressure of Maynard’s foot on his under the table recalled the excitable Frenchman to the fact that he and Evelyn were not alone. “I will do anything,” he announced. “I but await orders.”