(Antony thought to himself, "Just what I did not do.")
"She is angelic, Tony, delightful, an artist's dream, a writer's inspiration, and a poor man's fairy."
"Don't laugh, old man," said Dearborn simply. "I have never heard you rave like this about the peerless Mary."
Fairfax said, "No. But then you talk better than I do." He shook Dearborn's hand warmly. "You know I am most awfully glad, don't you?"
"I know I am," said Dearborn, lighting a cigarette.
He settled himself with a beautiful content, asking nothing better than to go on rehearsing his love affair.
"We have been engaged a long time, Tony. It is only a question of how little two people can dare to try to get on with, you know, and I have determined to risk it."
As they went up the steps of the studio together, Fairfax said--
"She is coming to-night, Bob, you say? Does she know anything about me?"
At this Dearborn laughed aloud. "She knows a great deal about me, Tony. My dear boy, do you think we have talked much about anything but each other? Do you talk with Mrs. Faversham about me? Nora knows I live here with a chum. She doesn't even know your name."
As Dearborn threw open the door they could hear Potowski playing softly the old French ballad, "J'ai perdu ma tourterelle."
A woman sat by Potowski in a big chair, and the lamp on the piano shone yellow upon her. When the two men entered the studio she rose, and Potowski, still playing, said--
"Let me present, at last, my better half. Mes amis, la Comtesse Potowski."
Dearborn greeted her enthusiastically, and Tony stood petrified. The comtesse, more mistress of the moment than Tony was, put out one hand and smiled, but she had turned very pale.
"Mr. Rainsford," she lifted her brows, "I think I have seen you before."
Tony bowed over her hand and Potowski, still smiling and nodding, cried--
"These are great men and geniuses, _ma chérie_. You have here two great artists together. They both have wings on their shoulders. Before they fly away from us and are lost on Olympus, be charming to them. Carolina, _ma chérie_, they shall hear you sing."
Robert Dearborn put his hand on Potowski's shoulder and said--
"We love your husband, madame. He has been such a bully friend to us, such a wonderful friend."