“Dear me,” she laughed, “you are making me quite conceited!”

“Anyhow,” he replied, “I don’t want you to look upon me, Beatrice, in any way as a benefactor.  I am much more comfortable here than at the boarding-house and it is costing no more money, especially since you began to get those singing engagements.  By the way, hadn’t you better go and get ready?”

She smothered a sigh as she turned away and went slowly upstairs.  To all appearance, no person who ever breathed was more ordinary than this strong-featured, self-centered young man who had put out his arm and snatched her from the Maelstrom.  Yet it seemed to her that there was something almost unnatural about his unapproachability.  She was convinced that he was entirely honest, not only with regard to his actual relations toward her, but with regard to all his purposes.  Her sex did not even seem to exist for him.  The fact that she was good-looking, and with her renewed health daily becoming more so, seemed to be of no account to him whatever.  He showed interest in her appearance sometimes, but it was interest of an entirely impersonal sort.  He simply expressed himself as satisfied or dissatisfied, as a matter of taste.  It came to her at that moment that she had never seen him really relax.  Only when he sat opposite to that great map which hung now in the further room, and wandered about from section to section with a pencil in one hand and a piece of rubber in another, did he show anything which in any way approached enthusiasm, and even then it was always the unmistakable enthusiasm born of dead things.  Suddenly she laughed at herself in the little mirror, laughed softly but heartily.  This was the guardian whom Fate had sent for her!  If Elizabeth had only understood!

CHAPTER VII

Mr. Pritchard of new York

Later in the evening, Beatrice and Tavernake traveled together in a motor omnibus from their rooms at Chelsea to Northumberland Avenue.  Tavernake was getting quite used to the programme by now.  They sat in a dimly-lit waiting-room until the time came for Beatrice to sing.  Every now and then an excitable little person who was the secretary to some institution or other would run in and offer them refreshments, and tell them in what order they were to appear.  To-night there was no departure from the ordinary course of things, except that there was slightly more stir.  The dinner was a larger one than usual.  It came to Beatrice’s turn very soon after their arrival, and Tavernake, squeezing his way a few steps into the dining-room, stood with the waiters against the wall.  He looked with curious eyes upon a scene with which he had no manner of sympathy.