wonderful offer of a world tour from Judock—it's that she can't decide what field to choose, concert or Broadway. And if she wanted to, she could marry Nino—the Marqués de Mendez y Avila—and forget all about dancing, or movies for that matter." That will hold him, she thought vengefully.
He laughed disarmingly. "You misunderstood me. It's not that I believe it, it's what people are saying. Obviously they don't know the facts. I'm very glad you told me. Now I can answer any cracks. Let's call her and ask her to join us."
What a hateful man, she thought. "I'll try again," she said, with the feared result. She could not bear the prospect of sitting with him through the evening and begged off, but was not satisfied to leave without a few darts in repayment of his slight to Lucy.
"I take it you've given up the idea of writing?"
He returned a dig at her. "Oh, everyone is writing these days."
Ready to leave, she thought of something she had meant to ask Clem. "By the way, did you know Nino gave Lucy Clem's 'Hepaticas'? I meant to tell him but forgot. But maybe he knows?"
Semy's eyes clouded and his voice was gentle with concern. "I wouldn't tell Clem if I were you. It might make him feel bad to learn that Horta sold the painting after he gave it to her."
"He gave his mother's 'Hepaticas' to Horta Cornwallis?"
"Why not? That was good business, as she influenced, among others, Sophie Biggens—I helped with Sophie too—to buy one of his paintings. He made his mother another one. But I wouldn't like him to know what happened," he said looking at her concernedly, "because he's so sensitive and he really didn't want to give up that painting."
He had hoped she would think it a joke on Clem, as he did, but her skeptical look made him redden guiltily. Semy, she guessed, had talked Clem into giving up the painting. Unable to conceal her distaste, she left abruptly.
At home, she telephoned without hope of reaching Lucy but to her surprise Lucy answered.
"Oh hello," came the laconic voice, as though no time had passed since they last had been together.
"Didn't you get my messages?" Vida demanded, angry at the lack of welcome in Lucy's voice.
"I guess they're in a pile of mail I haven't read yet."
"What are you doing tonight?" Vida asked, hoping for an invitation.
