The idea of a manager, a manager devoted to her, wearing a brown upholstered vest with purple sofa buttons, offended her horribly--more than other possibilities which did not stare her in the face. When she went off with Massingale, after the second act, for a hasty bite, he said to her: "Why so solemn?" She was still counting over that double line of purple sofa buttons. CHAPTER IX They took their supper in a near-by oyster house, invaded by a chattering throng, drummed over by an indefatigable orchestra. She had looked forward keenly to the tête-à-tête. She was terribly disillusioned. It was not at all exciting. Conversation was impossible, and what they said was meaningless. She became irritable and restless, for she had a feeling that she was being defrauded--that this man was not like the rest, that he was one worth knowing, drawing out, an adversary who would compel her to utilize all the light volatile artillery of her audacious imagination. "Listen," she broke out suddenly, "this is a horrible failure. I really want to talk to you! Have you seen enough of the rehearsal?" "Plenty!" "Let's cut it, then!" "Madame Quichy would never forgive me!" She was silent a moment, rebuffed. "I'm out of sorts. You can at least take me home!" "Certainly!" Arrived at the house, she said reluctantly: "Well, come in for just a moment!" And the parlor being occupied, they went to her room. "Is Your Honor really going to spare me ten minutes from the fascinating Sada Quichy?" she said, pouting, once arrived. "Ten hours, if you like!" he said, taking off his coat with a gesture of finality. She was so delighted at this unhoped-for treason that she clapped her hands like a child, not perceiving how he had made her ask each time for what he really wanted. "You're really going to stay?" "Yes, indeed!" "How exciting!" She let her coat slip into his hands, and going to the mirror, raised her hat slowly from her rebellious golden curls with one of those indescribable, intimate, feminine gestures that have such allurement to the gaze of men. If, with Blainey, she had resorted to abrupt and dashing ways, with Massingale she felt herself wholly feminine, sure that each turn of her head, line of her body, or caressing movement of her arms would find appreciation. She looked at him a moment over her shoulder, arching her eyebrows with eyes that seemed brimming with caprice. "You know, I was quite determined you should come!" she said, laughing, and with a sudden swift passage of the room, she darted on the sofa, curling her legs under her, hugging her knees, and resting her little chin on them in elfish amusement. "Honor bright! Made up my mind there in the theater!" "So did I!" he said frankly. "Really? And Sada Quichy?" "She is a known quantity! It's much more amusing gambling with possibilities!" Since taking her coat he had remained standing, examining the room with a keen instinct for significant details. "Two beds?"