“Oh yes. Simon dear I do wish you’d look after her, will you? They don’t know anybody here. It would be an awful weight off my mind. Look! there she is — the dark woman, in the yellow dress. She’s awfully good-looking I think — will you?”
“Well — er —” He appeared to hesitate. “Taking on a bit of a handful, isn’t it?”
“Oh, no, Simon. You get on so well with everybody. Of course,” she went on a little wistfully, “I do love giving parties, but you know what Jacob is — he just asks everybody that he can think of — and I have to do all the work. Do be a dear!”
Simon allowed himself to be led over. “Oh, Madame Karkoff, I want you to meet my cousin, Mr. Aron.” Simon’s hostess smiled a little unhappily. “He’s awfully interested in the theatre.”
“’Ow do you do, Meestaire Aron?” said Madame Karkoff, in a rich, deep, almost husky voice, as she lifted her fine chin and held out a long slender hand. “Come — sit ’ere by me.” With a quick gesture she made a pretence of drawing aside her dress.
Simon accepted the invitation, and produced his cigarette-case. She took one with a little laugh.
“I ’ave been dying for a cigarette,” she confessed. “Ah, sank you.” Almost before the cigarette had reached her scarlet lips Simon’s other hand had left his pocket, and the patent lighter in it flickered into flame. It was a much-practised little trick of his.
“So you are interested in the theatre, eh?” She regarded him curiously. “Tell me about the theatre, Meestaire Aron!”
Simon leant forward and laughed his little nervous laugh into the palm of his hand. “Fraid I can’t,” he chuckled. “Mind you, I’d love to be able to, but we haven’t got a theatre in England!”
“Ah! So you know that, do you?” A gleam of appreciation showed in her large dark eyes.