"Why not? Paul--he came over with us. He has been a true friend. He's waiting outside now in my car." "He's waiting outside now," echoed the dazed young man. "Don't be stupid, Jewel. He and Allie are together, otherwise I shouldn't have stayed so long with you." "Oh! Allie, too," he sarcastically observed. "Yes, Allie Wentworth, too. That girl helped me over some rough places in Europe. I shall never give her up, never," Easter reiterated with passion. "Was she the cause of the duel?" "Honestly, Jewel, living in this provincial town has made you lose your Parisian wits. There was no duel. That story was pure blague. I had a fencing match with Mary Garden and a reporter from the 'Figaro' was there. I filled him full of prunes--that's all." She laughed with the robust ventral laughter of a country girl. She was the same old Easter, and Ulick adored her for her natural manner. But he pretended that he did not understand. "What did you and Mary row about?" "Oh! Debussy. She thinks him so extraordinary. I don't. No climax, all pretty nuance, not a virile bar in him. A composer who fell asleep and dreamed of Tristan. But after Wagner he is like absinthe after brandy. I like the big, passionate style. I like Rodin. I adore D'Annunzio. Debussy is for artistic capons, and other fearful fowl. But Mary is wonderful. I envy her all the same. I love sumptuous characters. That's why I like to read Mlle de Maupin and also about that perverse puss, Satin, in Nana. She reminds me of Allie, and her pranks--simply adorable, I tell you. Toujours fidèle. But great God, look at the hour! Good-bye, for the present, Jewel. No, don't come to the door: I'll have a hard enough time explaining to those people-- they hate each other as do cats and dogs. Don't forget your old sweetheart, Jewel," and she patted his cheek as if he were a schoolboy. He could have killed her. She fled the apartment. But she hadn't said a word about the Munich elopement or the royal lover. VI Alfred exploded some nasty phrases when he heard of Easter's début. Close as he was to the Opera direction not a word had been hinted. As a newspaper man he revolted. He wanted the "scoop" for the "Clarion." No one got it; the news was ladled out to all, a regular soup-kitchen affair. He determined to get even with someone, with Easter herself. He had lost heavily that afternoon on the races, and it demanded all Madame Ash's tact to smooth his outraged vanity and feathers. But she did it. She promised to sit beside him that first night. Perhaps Easter wouldn't carry off everything with such a high hand as in Germany ... and there was always Jean de Reszke, not to drag in Edouard, who must be counted ... except Lilli, what Isolde had ever divided the interest of the audience? Jean was peerless. Poor Easter had a rocky road ahead.... Alfred's eyes glistened with malice....