That a Timon like himself—a misogynist indeed of the first water—should fall in love at first sight with a ballet girl certainly furnished matter for reflection. But reflection did not prevent Timon from seeking an interview with his unconscious enslaver the next day. Even cold and soured natures may become under some incentives enthusiastic and ingenious.
Harding found out where Miss Tinsel lived, learned that she usually came from rehearsal at about two, called consequently at three, and coolly sent in his name, telling the servant that the young lady would know who he was. As he hoped, the device got him admittance. The girl supposed he was some one from the theatre whose name she had not caught or had forgotten.
It was a very plain and humble room, almost us bare and forbidding perhaps as the inside of Harding's tent on the knoll, and yet how glorified was the place with the purple atmosphere of romance!
Miss Tinsel was as simply equipped as her room: a gown of dark stuff with a bit of color at the throat, and that was all. Harding saw that she was not quite so perfect physically as he had thought, and this, strange as it may seem, instantly increased his passion for her. Nothing could make her figure other than beautiful, or impair the lustre of her eyes; but the fair creature had a little range of freckles across her delicate nose and cheeks, and her hair by day appeared, as has been said before, nearly red. Her natural smile, on the other hand, as distinguished from her stage smile, which was merely intoxicating, was almost heavenly; and it was not made less so by an occasional look that was grave almost to sadness.
"Sit down." He was standing stock still and silent in the middle of the room. "You come from the theatre, don't you?"
It was a sweet voice—sweet and low—too low, in truth, which was one of the reasons of its failure in the drama—one of those thrilling contralto voices, most magnetic and charming when heard by one alone, or close by, but which lost their magnetism and charm if strained to fill the ears of a crowd.
"No—yes—that is, I was there last night. I saw you there," he replies stupidly.
"Last night? Oh, yes. But why do you want to see me to-day?"
This is a hard question to answer; so he tries evasion.
"Did you get a bouquet?"