not operatic and might have been a girl of today. Like Lucy Claudel, who was no swooning Mimi or Camille. She was nonetheless of the theatre, like Simone, and to be avoided.
Simone had not turned as the four entered the room but, buoying herself with a flurry of reparative cosmetic feints, addressed Figente through the mirror as though the others were not present.
"See how I have burned myself! Everything in New York is so strong, the matches are as torches."
"At least they light and do not sputter out as in Paris. Allow me to present Miss Claudel, Miss Boswell, and Mr. Pierce."
She nodded briefly, scarcely glancing. The shaking had gone and with it import to the quarrel. Why was it Paul had left? Oh, yes, his feeling of privacy where he and she were concerned. He said he would telephone which meant he would come later to the hotel. With a sweep she again bruised the wall with a match and lighting the cigarette perceived Lucy watching her solemnly. No one could have such perfection. It must be because the girl was standing in half light. She snatched a glimpse of herself and, seeing that she too looked well with refreshed makeup, turned.
"Cigarette?" Her eyes met Lucy's gaze.
"No thanks, I don't smoke much because it's bad for the wind."
"Ah?"
"Lucy is, as you may not yet know, our most extraordinary ballerina and star of the current Beman revue."
Lucy wished Figente hadn't given her higher billing than her due. It was as though being première danseuse wasn't much. He hadn't even seen the show. Besides Calvette didn't want any of them barging in, even Figente, because anyone could see they had come at the wrong time.
"Don't pay any attention to him, Tessie Soler is the star. I'm the première danseuse."
Simone looked at her sharply. Frankness could be a form of deception. She stared at one as a child at a curious object. Or as oneself had observed the aged Duse. One always could recognize these little ballet girls, scampering in and out the Opera stage door, straight-backed, breasts thrust out. They never lasted long with any man because their brains were in their feet.
"I hope soon to have the pleasure," she said with formal graciousness.
