“My poor child,” he said laughing, “you must be in no end of low spirits to talk that way.”
“It does sound morbid. But I have plenty of courage, Garry. I shall not snivel on the starched bosom of your evening shirt when we meet. Donc, à bientôt, monsieur. Soyez tranquille! You shall not be ashamed of me among your guests.”
“Fancy!” he laughed happily. “Don’t worry, Thessa. We’ll fix up whatever bothers you. Eight o’clock! Don’t forget!”
“I am not likely to,” she said.
Until Selinda returned from her foray along Fifth Avenue, Barres remained in the studio, lying in his armchair, still possessed by the delightful spell, still 126 excited by the prospect of seeing Thessalie Dunois again, here, under his own roof.
But when the slant-eyed and spotlessly blond Finn arrived, he came back out of his retrospective trance.
“Did you get some pretty things for Miss Soane?” he enquired.
“Yess, sir, be-ootiful.” Selinda deposited on the table a sheaf of paid bills and the balance of the bank-notes. “Would Mr. Barres be kind enough to inspect the clothes for Miss Soane?”
“No, thanks. You say they’re all right?”