Figente pushed through the backstage crowd to Lucy's dressing room. "You were enchanting, my dear, and it was a very good turnout too—I saw a number of people I know," he puffed, kissing her hand.
"Thank you for the neckband. Did you see it in the ballet?"
"Yes. How clever of you to wear it with that costume."
"Weren't the boys wonderful?"
"I thought they did quite well. In fact I think it would have been preferable to have them play a group in place of that most regrettable spectacle by what's her name. I think you should give another performance soon with just the boys."
"Without Ranna?" she asked in surprise.
"Ranna is very good indeed. I kept thinking however what a pity he does not have a Hindu company."
"You mean I wasn't good in the duet?" she asked in consternation.
"You were charming, but of course your 'Filles Méchantes' is more your metier. It was a great success. I had expected," his tone became aggrieved, "that you, Boswell, Ranna and the boys would come down for the supper Denis has waiting, but Hal tells me you all are going to Brush's."
"But you never said a word about it!"
"I didn't think it necessary—it never occurred to me you wouldn't know."
She was upset to see him a woebegone old kewpie with great purple bags under his swollen lids. "You know I would have much rather come to you but I can't now because Clem has invited the whole company. I wish you'd come with us, and I'm sure Clem would like it too."
"I'm sure he would too," he refused with a glint of his normal acidity, and opened the dressing room door. "It's quite all right, I'm rather tired anyway. Here's Nino waiting—say a word to him, and we'll go along."
"I know you must be very tired but I hope, now that the concert is over, we may lunch or dine so that I may tell you more thoroughly what an artist I think you are," the Marqués said, his eyes burning, hers.
"I will," she promised, "soon." And kissed him on the cheek for calling her the magic word.
"By the way," Figente said as they turned to leave, "Beman
