No one listened to him. The women nodded from time to time as their glasses encountered those of acquaintances; Beecher, troubled at a figure which he had half perceived in the orchestra and which he sought to distinguish, fancied a resemblance to Nan Charters; Gunther, bored by a spectacle which had no novelty for him, watched Mrs. Kildair, noting the nervous hands and the occasional quickly taken breaths, asking himself what had been the real cause of her absence, half divining in a confused way the truth.
Mrs. Fontaine was languidly curious of those who had a right to her interest. She was in her element—jealous of this multitude as an actress, pleased at the fine effect she had produced. And in her triumph she was recalled to the one thing she desired to complete her ambition, to give her that command of this assemblage which she was forced to acknowledge to another. Her glance went to the box in the middle of the horseshoe, as it did covetously each night.
"Your father isn't here tonight," she said to Bruce Gunther with a little surprise.
"No. There is some big pow-wow on," he answered.
Mrs. Kildair took up her glasses suddenly, turning them haphazard. The remark revived in her all the agitation of the afternoon.
"I shall never be able to sit through this," she said to herself, leaning forward. "If I only knew—"
Mrs. Fontaine, could she have known the thoughts that were galloping through the brain of her guest, would have been astounded at their similarity. Mrs. Kildair, too, had her ambitions, ambitions as passionately held and nourished on one hope. The interview that afternoon with Slade, an interview in which for the first time she had made him feel the need of her, had all at once brought the prize within her grasp. If he could but emerge from this one supreme danger, she said to herself that she had at last the opportunity to rate herself here among the leaders of this society which she coveted, had always coveted and would never cease to covet.
"Give me Slade and twenty millions even," she said to herself with a great intaking of breath, "and I can do anything. I will dominate this in five years." But the more violently burned the fire of her desire, the more weak and faltering was her hope. "Ah, will he win out—can he—how is it possible?" she said bitterly. "Oh, what a gamble it all is—and I must sit here—continue to sit here like a stone—while in an hour it may all be decided!"
"You've seen Fornez in Carmen?" said Taleza-Corti to Gunther. "Very fine."
"First appearance here," said Gunther briefly. He touched Beecher on the arm. "Friends of yours over there, Ted."