"But some day you will surely go."
"There doesn't seem any prospect of it," said Charmian.
"D'you remember meeting a funny little man called Crayford in my house one night, an impresario?" said Mrs. Shiffney, moving her shoulders, and pulling at one of her long gloves, as if she were bored and must find some occupation.
"Yes, I believe I do—a man with a tiny beard."
"Like a little inquiring goat's! D'you know that he's searching the world to find some composer to run against Jacques? Isn't it so, Henriette?"
"So they say in New York," said Madame Sennier. "I wish he could find one; then perhaps he would leave off bothering us with absurd proposals. And I'm sure there is plenty of room for some more shining lights. I told Crayford if he worried Jacques any more I would unearth someone for him. He doesn't know where to look."
"But surely—" began Charmian.
"Why do you think that?" asked Mrs. Shiffney, in an uninterested voice.
Her brilliant eyes looked extraordinary, like some strange exotic bird's eyes, through her veil.
"Because he began his search with England," said Madame Sennier.