“Yes, of course. And with the others, too. Tell me, Dulcie, did you find Miss Dunois agreeable?”
“I—don’t—know.”
“Why, you ought to like her. She’s very attractive.”
“She is quite beautiful,” said the girl, watching Thessalie across his shoulder.
“Yes, she really is. What did you and she talk about?”
“Father,” replied Dulcie, determined to have no further commerce with Thessalie Dunois which involved a secrecy excluding Barres. “She asked me if he were not my father. Then she asked me a great many stupid questions about him. And about Miss Kurtz, who takes the desk when father is out. Also, she asked me about the mail and whether the postman delivered letters at the desk or in the box outside, and about the tenants’ mail boxes, and who distributed the letters through them. She seemed interested,” added the girl indifferently, “but I thought it a silly subject for conversation.”
Barres, much perplexed, sat gazing at Dulcie in silence for a moment, then recollecting his duty, he smiled and whispered:
“Stand up, now, Dulcie. You are running this show.”
The girl flushed and rose, and the others stood up. Barres took her to the studio door, then returned to the table with the group of men.