“Of course, dear; of course,” said John, who had been eating hors d'ouvre in glum silence. “Who is there with taste like you?”
It would be entrancingly delectable to wear ties chosen by Stellamaris. Why, it would be coiling her sweet thoughts about his neck! This concession at least was harmless. Then suddenly he remembered that for the last two or three years Unity had taken charge of such details of his wardrobe, and he had sufficient glimmering of insight into feminine nature to know that between Unity with her domestic rights and a tigress with cubs there was remarkably little difference. How was he to abrogate one of her privileges? The gadfly question worried him. With such trumpery concerns are the deepest emotions of human life complicated. He who does not recognize them has no sense of values.
The conjugal wrangle having been checked, the meal proceeded gaily enough. Stella spoke of the play and praised Herold's acting, but with curious shyness avoided discussion of the theme. Herold noticed her adroit detours. He also noticed, with a sensitive man's pain, many other little things indicative of the awakening of Stellamaris. Once he saw her lay her hand impulsively on John's, as she had been wont to do since her childhood, and draw it quickly away, while a flush, like a rose-edged fairy cloud, came and went in her cheek. He also caught her glancing covertly at John, her brow knitted in a tiny frown, as though she wondered at his unusual silence.
When the party broke up, John leaving early, owing to pressure of work at the office, she said:
“I shall see you to-night, of course?”
“I'm afraid not. I have to see the review through the press.”
Her face fell piteously.
“Oh, Belovedest!” she cried. “And I can't have Walter, because he's tied to his theatre.”
But the disappointment was on account of John, not on account of Herold.
“You 'll have Walter most of the afternoon,” remarked Lady Blount.