ll shut the window," he added, "or you'll catch cold in that low
dress."

He was moving to the window when she caught at his hand and detained
him.

"Would you care if I did? Would you care if I were ill?"

"Of course I should."

"Would you care if I--"

She did not finish the sentence, but still held his hand closely in
hers. In her hand-grasp Claude felt jealousy, warm, fiery, a thing
almost strangely vital.

"Does she--is she getting to love me as I wish to be loved?"

The question flashed through his mind. At that moment he was very glad
that he had never betrayed Charmian, very glad of the Puritan in him
which perhaps many women would jeer at, did they know of its existence.

"Charmian," he said, "let me shut the window."

"Yes, yes; of course."

She let his hand go.

"It is better not to listen to the voices," she added. "They make one
feel too much!"

CHAPTER XXXIV

Nothing more was said by Charmian or Claude about Mrs. Shiffney and the
rehearsal. Mrs. Shiffney made no sign. The rehearsals of Jacques
Sennier's new opera were being pressed forward almost furiously, and no
doubt she had little free time. Claude wondered very much what she would
do, debated the question with himself. Surely now she would not wish to
come to his rehearsal! And even if she did wish to be present, surely
she would not try to come now! But women are not easily to be read.
Claude was aware that he could not divine what Mrs. Shiffney would do.
He thought, however, that it was unlikely she would come. He thought
also that he wished her not to come.

Nevertheless, when the darkness gathered over New York on Friday
evening, he found himself wishing strongly, even almost painfully, for
her verdict.

Charmian was greatly excited. Claude still kept up his successful
pretense of bold self-confidence. He had to strain every nerve to
conceal his natural sensitiveness. But although he was racked by
anxiety, and something else, he did not show it. Charmian was astonished
by his apparent serenity now that the hour full of fate was approaching.
She admired him more than ever. She even wondered at him, remembering
moments, not far off, when he had shown a sort of furtive bitterness, or
weariness, or depression, when she had partially divined a blackness of
the depths. Now his self-confidence lifted her, and she told him so.

"There's an atmosphere of success round you," she said.

"Why not? We are going to reap the fruits