“Apparently,” said Mr. Gilman, with comfort in his voice.

At that moment the musical critic with large, dark Eastern eyes, whom Audrey had met at the Foas’, strolled nonchalantly by, and, perceiving Miss Ingate, described a huge and perfect curve in the air with his glossy silk hat, which had been tipped at the back of his head.  Mr. Gilman had come close to Audrey.

“The Foas started down with me,” said Mr. Gilman mildly.  “But they always meet such crowds of acquaintances at these affairs that they seldom get anywhere.  Hortense would not leave the box.  She never will.”

“Oh!  I’m so glad I’ve seen you,” Audrey began excitedly, but with simplicity and compelling sweetness.  “You’ve no idea how sorry I am about this afternoon!  I’m frightfully sorry, really!  But I was so upset.  I didn’t know what to do.  You know how anxious everybody was about Musa for to-night.  He’s the pet of the Quarter, and, of course, I belong to the Quarter.  At least—­I did.  I thought he might be ill, or something.  However, it was all right in the end.  I was looking forward tremendously to that drive.  Are you going to forgive me?”

“Please, please!” he eagerly entreated, with a faint blush.  “Of course, I quite understand.  There’s nothing whatever to forgive.”

“Oh! but there is,” she insisted.  “Only you’re so good-natured.”

She was being magnanimous.  She was pretending that she had no mysterious power.  But her motive was quite pure.  If he was good-natured, so was she.  She honestly wanted to recompense him, and to recompense him richly.  And she did.  Her demeanour was enchanting in its ingenuous flattery.  She felt happy despite all her anxieties, for he was living up to her ideal of him.  She felt happy, and her resolve to make him happy to the very limit of his dreams was intense.  She had a vision of her future existence stretching out in front of her, and there was not a shadow on it.  She thought he was going to offer her the box of chocolates, but he did not.

“I rather wanted to ask your advice,” she said.

“I wish you would,” he replied.

Just then the Foas arrived, and with them Dauphin, the great and fashionable painter and the original discoverer of Musa.  And as they all began to speak at once Audrey heard the Oriental musical critic say slowly to an inquiring Miss Ingate: 

“It is not a concert talent that he has.”

“You hear!  You hear!” exclaimed Monsieur Foa to Monsieur Dauphin and Madame Foa, with an impressed air.  “You hear what Miquette says.  He has not a concert talent.  He has everything that you like, but not a concert talent.”

Foa seemed to be exhibiting the majestic Oriental, nicknamed Miquette, as the final arbiter, whose word settled problems like a sword, and Miquette seemed to be trying to bear the high role with negligent modesty.

“But, yes, he has!  But, yes, he has!” Dauphin protested, sweeping all Miquettes politely away.  And then there was an urbane riot of greetings, salutes, bowings, smilings, cooings and compliments.