It was characteristically,—­wasn’t it?—­a Latin attitude; or would it be fairer to say that its antithesis as exemplified by Graham was a northern specialty?  She extracted quite a bit of amusement from observing some of the results of individual failures to understand this fundamental difference, all the more after she had Jimmy Wallace to share observations with.  He was a dramatic critic, but he consented to take a fatherly, or better avuncular, interest in the Ravinia season during the month of his musical colleague’s vacation.

The special episode they focused upon was Violet Williamson’s flirtation with Fournier.  She was a pretty woman, still comfortably on the east side of forty, socially one of the inner ring, spoiled, rather, by an enthusiastic husband but not, thanks to her own good sense, very seriously.  James Wallace was an old and very special friend of hers and she commandeered his services as soon as he appeared at Ravinia, in her campaign for possession of the French baritone.

Mary had reflected over this and talked it out pretty thoroughly with Jimmy before it occurred to her that she might be able to turn it to her own account—­or rather to her lover’s.  For that matter, why not, while she had him under her hand, recruit Jimmy as an aid in the campaign?

“Do you mind being used for ulterior purposes?” she asked him.

He intimated that he did not if they were amusing, as any of Mary’s were pretty sure to be.

“I’m interested in an opera,” she told him, “or rather, I’m very much interested in a man who has written one.  Father and I have agreed that he’s a great person and everybody seems willing to admit that he’s a musical genius.  Paula considered the opera, but gave it up after she had kept him working over it for weeks because the soprano part wasn’t big enough.  It would be just the thing for Fournier.”

Jimmy raised the language difficulty.  “The book’s in English, I suppose,” he said.

“It’s been translated into French,” Mary said, and then admitted authorship by adding, “after a fashion; as well as an amateur like me could do it.”  She didn’t mind a bit how much Jimmy knew.  Not that he wasn’t capable of very acute surmises but that whatever he brought up he wouldn’t have the flutters over.

“Does Fournier like it himself?” he wanted to know.  “Does he see the personal possibilities in it, I mean?”

“I haven’t shown it to him yet,” Mary said.  “I want him to hear about it in just the right way first.  If Paula would only say just the right thing!  She means to but she forgets.  LaChaise would back her up, I think, if she took the lead.  Otherwise ... well, he isn’t looking for trouble, I suppose, and of course, it would mean a lot.”

“Somebody has to put his back into an enterprise of that sort,” Jimmy observed.

“I can’t, directly,” she said, “not with LaChaise nor with Mr. Eckstein.  But you see,” she went on, “if Violet happened to hear, from somebody who was in the way of getting inside information, about a small opera that had a sensational part for a baritone, she’d work it and make her husband too, and since he’s one of the real backers and a friend of Mr. Eckstein’s, they’d be likely to accomplish something.”