For a moment Marya continued to arrange her hair by the aid of the mantel mirror, then she turned very lithely and let her green gaze rest full on Palla’s face.
What she might possibly have divined was hidden behind the steady brown eyes that met hers may have determined her attitude and words; for she laughed with frank carelessness and plunged into it all:
“Fancy, Palla, my encountering Jim Shotwell in the Biltmore, and dining with him at that noisy Palace of Mirrors last night! Did he tell you?”
“I haven’t seen him.”
“––Over the telephone, perhaps?”
“No, he did not mention it.”
“Well, it was most amusing. It is the unpremeditated that is delightful. And can you see us in that dreadful place, as gay as a pair of school children? And we must laugh at nothing and find it enchanting––and we must dance amid the hoi polloi and clap our hands for the encore too!–––”
A light peal of laughter floated from her lips at the recollections evoked:
“And after! Can you see us, Palla, in Vanya’s studio, too wide awake to go our ways!––and the song I sang at that unearthly hour––the song I sing always when happily excited–––”