"Yes. Why?"
She turned, looking at the questioner with a fixity that told him she was not entirely ignorant of his real interest.
"He must have been in Paris when you were," he said quickly. "I hear he had quite a career there."
She turned away with indifference, gazed once more through her glasses and said:
"Yes, there were quite a number of stories about his rise. He is a man with a genius for friendships."
"Rather attentive to Mrs. Cheever, isn't he?" persisted Gunther.
"I didn't know it."
Beecher did not then seize the drift of the inquiry, still absorbed as he was in the attempt to gain a clearer view of the profile in the orchestra which reminded him of Nan Charters. Lady Mowbray continued silent, busy as a true Briton in the search for the ridiculous in this assemblage which at first glance had impressed her.
All at once the lights went out and the first act was on. The entrance of Emma Fornez was eagerly awaited as a new sensation to an audience which yearly must be served with the novel and startling. It had been rumored that her impersonation was even a bit shocking, and the house, stirred by the expectation, waited hopefully. At the end of the act opinions were divided: the galleries applauded frantically, moved by the sure magnetism of a great artist, but the boxes and most of the orchestra waited undecided, each afraid to be the leader.
"But I don't see anything shocking at all," said the voice of a young woman in the next box, a note of complaint in her voice.