"Is Mr. Abbott going with us?" she inquired.
"Donald is sulking," Nora answered. "For once the Barone got ahead of him
in engaging the motor-boat."
"I wish you would not call him by his first name."
"And why not? I like him, and he is a very good comrade."
"You do not call the Barone by his given name."
"Heavens, no! If I did he would kiss me. These Italians will never
understand western customs, mother. I shall never marry an Italian, much
as I love Italy."
"Nor a Frenchman?" asked Celeste.
"Nor a Frenchman."
"I wish I knew if you meant it," sighed the mother.
"My dear, I have given myself to the stage. You will never see me being
led to the altar."
"No, you will do the leading when the time comes," retorted the mother.
"Mother, the men I like you may count upon the fingers of one hand. Three
of them are old. For the rest, I despise men."
"I suppose some day you will marry some poverty-stricken artist," said the
mother, filled with dark foreboding.
"You would not call Donald poverty-stricken."
"No. But you will never marry him."
"No. I never shall."
Celeste smoothed her hands, a little trick she had acquired from long
hours spent at the piano. "He will make some woman a good husband."
"That he will."
"And he is most desperately in love with you."
"That's nonsense!" scoffed Nora. "He thinks he is. He ought to fall in
love with you, Celeste. Every time you play the fourth ballade he looks
as if he was ready to throw himself at your feet."
"Pouf! For ten minutes?" Celeste laughed bravely. "He leaves me quickly
enough when you begin to sing."
"Glamour, glamour!"
"Well, I should not care for the article second-hand."
The arrival of Harrigan put an end to this dangerous trend of
conversation. He walked in tight proper pumps, and sat down. He was only
hungry now; the zest for dining was gone.
"Don't go sitting out in the night air, Nora," he warned.
"I sha'n't."
"And don't dance more than you ought to. Your mother would let you wear
the soles off your shoes if she thought you were attracting attention.
Don't do it."
"James, that is not true," the mother protested.
"Well, Molly, you do like to hear 'em talk. I wish they knew how to cook a
good club steak."
"I brought up a book from the village for you to-day," said Mrs. Harrigan,
sternly.
"I'll bet a dollar it's on how to keep the creases in a fellow's pants."
"Trousers."
"Pants," helping himself to the last of the romaine. "What time do you go
over?"
"At nine. We must be getting ready now," said Nora. "Don't wait up for
us."