riers, as quite different women than when they were with men. There one could observe the duality of human behavior at first hand, and this might help in clarifying the seeming contradictions in Lucy's character and thus in telling her story. One thing was clear, the Lucy she had seen with Herbert, Ranna, or any man, was not the Lucy she knew apart from men.
On Monday she became Miss Vida of Hector's. The next week Figente returned from Palm Beach. At dinner he did not disguise his hurt at her haste in finding another job.
He said crossly, "I should think you would have been delighted to have a place to read or write without interruption. And I thought I might do a book on New York manners before my autobiography."
She remained silent about his endless interruptions, his pretexts to engage her in piddling tasks because now that Hal was gone he could not bear to be alone tor long. "I'm not a good recluse," she said, and sought to deflect him by telling him how much better he looked.
The information did not seem to please him.
"'And can the physician make sick men well?" he quoted. "Do you know that one?"
"Yes, it's by Anon. 'And can the magician a fortune divine? Without lily, germander, and sops in wine,' et cetera," she quoted. "Precisely," he said enigmatically.
"Why didn't you stay for Lucy's opening?"
"You know I never go to night clubs, even though The Crocodile is exclusive! I came back because Palm Beach is becoming a Coney Island, what with the nouveau riche and, even worse, Broadway, swarming in. I said to Nat Merriman, the President of The Crocodile, 'If you are determined to have what you call entertainment at least do it in style and have Lucy Claudel if you can get her.' So he did. Lucy can do very well there it she wants to. Merriman is quite a catch. In fact he's between catches, having been caught three times in the last ten years."
On Washington's Birthday, Vida Bertrand wrote in her notebook.
