After what Figente had said she was afraid to see Nino, at least until after the concert which was enough now to have on her mind. That old witch, Horta, was smart, knowing she couldn't say no because of Nino. Tired as she was it was impossible to rest. The two lines of Debussy that gave the girls trouble because what Hal called counterpoint was hard for them repeated itself maddeningly in her head. What was worse was that suddenly this morning the ballet seemed to have lost its point and to have become a series of uninteresting exercises leading nowhere. It did not even have the spectacular fouetté finish of a Broadway number to insure applause. If only there was someone to talk to about it. Not Ranna. If she went there his answer would be an "Invitation to the Dance" of love. Queer, Ranna was like Mother in one way, thinking rich people, especially nutty women, were the only financial security. Nino would be right to talk to, but what Figente had intimated was an obstacle. It was strange that knowing so many people there wasn't someone, like Vermillion, to phone and say, "I want to talk to you—meet me at Childs' at 59th and Fifth."
Mae yawned. "I'm going to take a nice warm bath and go to bed."
"You do that," Lucy encouraged. While Mother was in the tub she would take a chance and phone Vermillion.
Perhaps she ought to think up a reason—she hesitated at the telephone and became cross at him for being difficult. All he can say is no so here goes. She gave the operator his number, her heart pounding as though she were doing something dangerous. There was no answer, but operators often rang wrong numbers so she tried again. No answer. She was provoked at his characteristic lack of consideration in not being home—or not answering! She might as well go to Figente's, maybe he'd cheer her up. When she arrived Vermillion was there too.
"Have some brandy—Paul has been telling me Vedder bought five of his paintings."
"With ice and water."
"Not this rare brandy—you'd better have some champagne."
"I'd rather have champagne—I need it. I'll drink to you—you must be rich," she said to Vermillion.
The two men smiled.
"He is as improvident as you are. He should have let me talk to Vedder—or asked my advice," Figente reproved.
"Don't ask his advice," she cautioned Vermillion. "I'd hate to tell
