idea of the infallibility of teachers. What I'm afraid of is that the Horta party has deeply affected her hitherto free spirit.
No matter what I wear I look like a ghost so the least I can do to look more cheerful to say goodbye to Nino is to put on some rouge, Lucy thought. But the added color made her appear feverish.
They sat at the identical Athenée table overlooking the park.
It was hard to bring up Horta's party when he was being nice enough to pretend it hadn't happened.
"Were you surprised to see me at Horta's party?"
He hesitated, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette slowly. "Yes," he said, frowning slightly. "And when you left without saying good night I worried that you might be ill or that I had displeased you, as my presence seemed not to please you."
He is not sure, she thought, but I can talk to him as a friend because he still likes me. And I needn't worry any more that he might ask me to marry him and that I would hurt him by refusing.
"You could never displease me, Nino," she said solemnly. "What I want to tell you is that I was surprised when I saw the kind of place it was, though it took me a little while to catch on. I had met the two girls who live there just once before, but you know how it is—everyone calls everyone by the first name as soon as they are introduced. As you could see I knew most of the men, after all I am on Broadway. I almost married one of them. I've never cared before what anyone thought because no matter what you say or do people believe as they please. I do myself. I suppose it was silly but I suddenly got frightened and left. The only reason I came was because Horta said it was a surprise party for you. Tell me the truth, Nino, what did you think when you saw me there?"
"My dear, I am not a child as you can see. The world is as it is because men and women are what and as they are. I accept it, but with reservations—that is, as it applies to myself. I thought the young women amiable but rather—how shall I say it without being offensive—obvious, lacking in the refinements one would expect in women at the top of their profession."
"I see what you mean," Lucy said dryly. She often had wondered how the great courtesans had conducted themselves. Du Barry, Pompadour, la Vallière. Was it only their acquired social graces that made one think of them also as ladies? It all led to the same conclusion. What was, as Vida liked to say, the distinction? Nino un-
