The Moonlit Way Part 31

"Will you dance with her?" she asked gravely.

"Yes, of course. And with the others, too. Tell me, Dulcie, did you find Miss Dunois agreeable?"

"I--don't--know."

"Why, you ought to like her. She's very attractive."

"She is quite beautiful," said the girl, watching Thessalie across his shoulder.

"Yes, she really is. What did you and she talk about?"

"Father," replied Dulcie, determined to have no further commerce with Thessalie Dunois which involved a secrecy excluding Barres. "She asked me if he were not my father. Then she asked me a great many stupid questions about him. And about Miss Kurtz, who takes the desk when father is out. Also, she asked me about the mail and whether the postman delivered letters at the desk or in the box outside, and about the tenants' mail boxes, and who distributed the letters through them.

She seemed interested," added the girl indifferently, "but I thought it a silly subject for conversation."

Barres, much perplexed, sat gazing at Dulcie in silence for a moment, then recollecting his duty, he smiled and whispered:

"Stand up, now, Dulcie. You are running this show."

The girl flushed and rose, and the others stood up. Barres took her to the studio door, then returned to the table with the group of men.

"Well," he exclaimed happily, "what do you fellows think of Soane's little girl now? Isn't she the sweetest thing you ever heard of?"

"A peach!" said Westmore, in his quick, hearty voice. "What's the idea, Garry? Is it to be her career, this posing business? And where is it going to land her? In the Winter Garden?"

"Where is it going to land _you_?" added Esme impudently.

"Why, I don't know, myself," replied Barres, with a troubled smile.

"The little thing always appealed to me--her loneliness and neglect, and--and something about the child--I can't define it----"

"Possibilities?" suggested Mandel viciously. "Take it from me, you're some picker, Garry."

"Perhaps. Anyway, I've given her the run of my place for the last two years and more. And she has been growing up all the while, and I didn't notice it. And suddenly, this spring, I discovered her for the first time.... And--well, look at her to-night!"

"She's your private model, isn't she?" persisted Mandel.

"Entirely," replied Barres drily.

"Selfish dog!" remarked Westmore, with his lively, wholesome laugh. "I once asked her to sit for me--more out of good nature than anything else. And a jolly fine little model she ought to make you, Garry.

She's beginning to acquire a figure."

"She's quite wonderful that way, too," nodded Barres.

"Undraped?" inquired Esme.

"A miracle," nodded Barres absently. "Paint is becoming inadequate. I shall model her this summer. I tell you I have never seen anything to compare to her. Never!"

"What else will you do with her?" drawled Esme. "You'll go stale on her some day, of course. Am I next?"

"_No_!... I don't know what she'll do. It begins to look like a responsibility, doesn't it? She's such a fine little girl," explained Barres warmly. "I've grown quite fond of her--interested in her. Do you know she has an excellent mind? And nice, fastidious instincts?

She _thinks_ straight. That souse of a father of hers ought to be jailed for the way he neglects her."

"Are you thinking of adopting her?" asked Trenor, with the faintest of sneers, which escaped Barres.

"Adopt a _girl_? Oh, Lord, no! I can't do anything like that. Yet--I hate to think of her future, too ... unless somebody looks out for her. But it isn't possible for _me_ to do anything for her except to give her a good job with a decent man----"

"Meaning yourself," commented Mandel, acidly.

"Well, I _am_ decent," retorted Barres warmly, amid general laughter.

"You fellows know what chances she might take with some men," he added, laughing at his own warm retort.

Esme and Corot Mandel nodded piously, each perfectly aware of what chance any attractive girl would run with his predatory neighbour.

"To s.h.i.+ft the subject of discourse--that girl, Thessalie Dunois,"

began Westmore, in his energetic way, "is about the cleverest and prettiest woman I've seen in New York outside the theatre district."

"I met her in France," said Barres, carelessly. "She really is wonderfully clever."

"I shall let her talk to me," drawled Esme, flicking at his cigarette.

"It will be a liberal education for her."

Mandel's slow, oriental eyes blinked contempt; he caressed his waxed moustache with nicotine-stained fingers:

"I am going to direct an out-of-door spectacle--a sort of play--not named yet--up your way, Barres--at Northbrook. It's for the Belgians.... If Miss Dunois--unless," he added sardonically, "you have her reserved, also----"

"Nonsense! You cast Thessalie Dunois and she'll make your show for you, Mandel!" exclaimed Barres. "I know and I'm telling you. Don't make any mistake: there's a girl who can make good!"

"Oh. Is she a professional?"

It was on the tip of Barres's tongue to say "Rather!" But he checked himself, not knowing Thessalie's wishes concerning details of her incognito.

"Talk to her about it," he said, rising.

The others laid aside cigars and followed him into the studio, where already the gramophone was going and Aristocrates and Selinda were rolling up the rugs.

Barres and Dulcie danced until the music, twice revived, expired in husky dissonance, and a new disc was subst.i.tuted by Westmore.

"By heaven!" he said, "I'll dance this with my G.o.dchild or I'll murder you, Garry. Back up, there!--you soulless monopolist!" And Dulcie, half laughing, half vexed, was swept away in Westmore's vigorous arms, with a last, long, appealing look at Barres.

The latter danced in turn with his feminine guests, as in duty bound--in pleasure bound, as far as concerned Thessalie.

"And to think, to _think_," he repeated, "that you and I, who once trod the moonlit way, June-mad, moon-mad, should be dancing here together once more!"

"Alas," she said, "though this is June again, moon and madness are lacking. So is the enchanted river and your canoe. And so is that gay heart of mine--that funny, careless little heart which was once my comrade, sending me into a happy gale of laughter every time it counselled me to folly."

"What is the matter, Thessa?"