So that when she fastened the short black satin dress up the front into a high collar under her ears and pulled the brim of her black satin hat in a shading dip, it was in a mood that omened no particularly cordial reception of Mr. Hubert Randolph.
Seabury called for her and Randolph met them in the cobbled courtyard that led to their unique dining place. In the dark she did not recognize him. But as they stood in the doorway where an old lantern swung, she stopped and peered at him.
“I have seen you be-fore!”
“Have you?”
“Many times—in the firs’ row. And you look’ as if—you like me.”
“I do,” came promptly with a smile.
“No—no,” her eyes gave him a piquant uptilt, “my art, I mean to say. Me—you do not know.”
“I’m going to.”
He led the way indoors. She glanced about and her mood dissolved into a new interest. First the man, then the charm of this quaint place. The stalls had been left standing and in each a table was set. Over [40] ]each from the beamed ceiling swung a lantern similar to the one outside. There were no brilliant lights, no noises of clinking glass and silver.
She slid along the upholstered seat that lined the stall to the place he indicated at the table’s head. The men seated themselves at either side.