“Now! Tell it to me now!” she insisted, with something more than childish impetuosity.
But just then Cissie Pyce, patting the marvelous folds of her hair, came from the inner room.
“Not now,” Brainard replied, looking meaningly at Miss Pyce.
Taking the water color from Louisiana’s reluctant hands, he replaced it above the desk in his private study, where it had always hung since he had moved into this house.
Farson came in presently, and in the flurry of his surprise and greetings the subject of the water color was apparently forgotten. Now and again, however, during their lively breakfast, Brainard found Louisiana’s gray eyes resting on him with a peculiar intentness. She did not seem so much excited over the prospect of playing Gertrude in Her Great Adventure as he had expected.
After the meal Cissie tore herself away reluctantly, and the three others went over the new play, the author explaining some of his ideas, and seeking to get the young actress interested in her part. Louisiana listened, but evidently her thoughts were far away. Farson was visibly disappointed.
“I think Miss Delacourt must be tired after her journey and the early landing,” Brainard interposed in kindly fashion.
“Of course—pardon me!” the young dramatist said, throwing down his manuscript. “Let me set you down at your hotel on the way to the theater.”
“No, you are already late for the rehearsal. I will take Miss Delacourt home when the motor comes back. I have something to say to her.”
Farson left with reluctance, after making an engagement for the morrow with the young actress.