“Cheer up!” he said. “I’ll sit here all day, if you’ll order another Entre Côte. Have you ever noticed what queerly shaped heads some of these fellows have? If I were a woman, I’d study phrenology a bit. That’s where you have the best of us. You women may—and I expect often do—possess heads a congenital idiot would be proud of, but we never find it out. Don’t even show your ears, now. It isn’t fair. But your friend over there—I could tell you a whole lot about him just by looking at the back of his head.”
“Oh, he’s a devil if you like,” said the unhappy Connie, “but I love him. And he loved me, once. I’d die for him.”
“Neurotic,” Noel told her.
“Call it what you like. I’d rather spend five minutes with him than a lifetime with any one else.”
“I’d like to spend five minutes with him myself,” said Noel. “Alone. Oh,” remembering his empty sleeve, “I expect he’d wipe up the floor with me, but I’d tell him a few simple, home truths first.”
“I tell you, Noel, ordinary rules of conduct don’t apply to men like Petrovitch. He’s a genius, a heaven-born genius. You’ve never even heard him play. There’s nothing like it—there never has been anything like it. Oh, yes, he’s made me suffer, but I forgive him for it, because he’s a king among men.”
“A king! My good aunt, pull yourself together and observe the way he eats asparagus. There! I knew it … he’s dribbled some of the melted butter down his chin and on to his waist-coat. How would you like the job of spot-remover to His Highness? I suppose some wretched woman—but has he a wife? I forget.”
“He has had two,” murmured Connie.
“How any woman——” began Noel, and gave it up.
“There are men like that. They are unattractive to other men perhaps, but they have an irresistible fascination for some women. They command—we obey.”