“Well, Noel, I think the whole thing is in your hands. You are the only one who can do anything with her. If I say anything she will only tell me I am trying to rob her of her happiness. You know how she talks—such sentimental nonsense!”
“But I don’t see that I can do anything either. What can I do?”
“Of course you can do something. She knows well enough that Petrovitch is here to-day and gone to-morrow, while you’re her nephew for life. Make her choose, Noel. It will appeal to her sense of the dramatic. You’ll see. Make her choose.”
“Him or me, you mean? I believe she’d choose him.”
“I’m not so sure. But try it, anyway. You’re so good about managing Connie.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll try.”
“Oh, and Noel, if she chooses you, you might be magnanimous and offer to take her to his concert next week. I think you could safely do that. Good-by. I can’t talk any more. Millie is just coming up to see me, and she mustn’t hear this. Good-by and good luck!”
Noel remained for a thoughtful moment in the booth, and then went upstairs. Claire was quite right. It was the only chance.
He found his troublesome aunt waiting for him in her sitting room. She was humming softly and looking out of the window. His indignation grew as he looked at her.
“Connie,” he said quietly. “About this Petrovitch business. I’m pretty angry about it, as you know perfectly well. I’ve made up my mind that you’ll have to choose between me and that fellow, and choose here and now. You can’t have us both. If you go out to dinner with Petrovitch to-morrow night or any other night, or have anything further to do with him, that’s the end as far as I’m concerned. You won’t see me again.”