more in Claude than people were inclined to suppose
in London," said Charmian, trying to speak with light indifference, but
secretly triumphing.

"Evidently!" said Mrs. Shiffney. "Perhaps, now that you've forced him to
come out into the open, he enjoys being a storm-center, as they call it
out here."

"Oh, but I didn't force him!"

"Playfully begged him not to come, I meant."

Claude was sitting a little way off talking to Susan Fleet. Mrs.
Shiffney had "managed" this. She wanted to feel how things were through
the woman. Then perhaps she would tackle the man. At lunch it had seemed
to her as if success were in the air. Had she always been mistaken in
her judgment of Claude Heath! Had Charmian seen more clearly and farther
than she had? She felt more interested in Charmian than she had ever
felt before, and disliked her, in consequence, much more than formerly.
How Charmian would triumph if the Heath opera were a success! How
unbearable she would be! In fancy Mrs. Shiffney saw Charmian enthroned,
and "giving herself" a thousand airs. Mrs. Shiffney had never forgiven
Charmian for taking possession of Claude. She did not hate her for that.
Charmian had only got in the way of a whim. But Mrs. Shiffney disliked
those who got in the way of her whims, and resented their conduct, as
the spoilt child resents the sudden removal of a toy. Without hating
Charmian she dearly wished for the failure of the great enterprise, in
which she knew Charmian's whole heart and soul were involved. And she
wished it the more on account of the change in Claude Heath. In his
intensity, his vivacity, his resolution, she was conscious of
fascination. He puzzled her. "There really is a great deal in him," she
said to herself. And she wished that some of that "great deal" could be
hers. As it could not be hers, unless her judgment of a man, not happily
come to, and now almost angrily accepted, was at fault, she wished to
punish. She could not help this. But she did not desire to help it.

Mrs. Shiffney separated from the Heaths that day without speaking of the
"libretto-scandal," as the papers now called the invention of Madame
Sennier. They parted apparently on cordial terms. And Mrs. Shiffney's
last words were:

"I'm coming to see you one day in your eyrie at the Saint Regis. I take
no sides where art is in question, and I want both the operas to be
brilliant successes."

She had said not a word about the rehearsals at the New Era Opera Hou