Heath had spoken of Mrs. Shiffney's message. He was evidently reluctant to obey it, but Charmian insisted on his going. "I want to know what Madame Sennier is like. You must ask her if she is happy, find out how happy she is." "Charmian, Mr. Heath isn't a mental detective!" "I speak such atrocious French!" said Heath, looking nervous and miserable. "I suppose you can say, '_Chere Madame, j'espere que vous etes bien contente ce soir_?'" When Heath had left the box Mrs. Mansfield said gravely to her daughter: "Charmian!" "Yes, Madretta." "I don't think you are behaving very kindly this evening. You scarcely seem to remember that Mr. Heath is our guest." "Against his will," she said, in a voice that was almost hard. There was a hardness, too, in her whole look and manner. "I think that only makes the hostess's obligation the stronger," said Mrs. Mansfield. "I don't at all like the Margot manner with men." "I'm sorry, Madre; but I had no idea I was imitating Margot Drake." Mrs. Mansfield said no more. Charmian, with flushed cheeks and shining eyes, turned to look once more at Adelaide Shiffney's box. In about three minutes she saw Mrs. Shiffney glance behind her. Max Elliot, who was still with her, got up and opened the door, and Heath stood in the background. Charmian frowned and pressed her little teeth on her lower lip. Her body felt stiff with attention, with scrutiny. She saw Heath come forward, Max Elliot holding him by the arm, and talking eagerly and smiling. Mrs. Shiffney smiled, too, laughed, gave him her powerful hand. Now he was being introduced to Madame Sennier, who surely appraised him with one swift, almost cruelly intelligent glance. His French! His French! Charmian trembled for it, for him because of it. If Mrs. Mansfield could have known how solicitous, how tender, how motherly, the girl felt at that moment under her mask of shining, radiant hardness! But Mrs. Mansfield was glancing about the house with grave and even troubled eyes.