The Dual Alliance Part 3

"Dinner at six-fifteen. You'll hate that, won't you?"

"There may be compensations," dryly. He held the door open for her, between the two suites. "Oh, bother that boy, he carried off the key to this door," he added.

"We don't need it," she said.

"Thank you," he bowed.

Dinner was hurried and unsatisfactory. For the most part they were silent. Bob needed her reserves for the night's work, and deliberately set herself against the impulse to entertain him. He talked to her, as they drove to the theatre, so quietly and casually, that she knew she had dreamed it all--that he would go out of her life at the stage door.

"Coming around later?" she asked.

"Yes."

She nodded and disappeared. When half an hour later she darted out on the stage before an enraptured audience, he found himself a part of the mob spirit which acclaimed her. Her charm was irresistible. He felt her as an artist, not as a woman, but she moved him keenly by her masterly performance. As the audience filed out he went into a nearby florist and bought the entire stock of Killarney roses. He carried them to her dressing-room, and when the maid admitted him, he dropped the ma.s.s in her lap.

"For a wild Irish rose," said he.

"Faith, little sisters, he's an Irishman himself," she laughed, burying her face in the bloom.

They were interrupted by the manager, people to see her on various pretexts. Trent was driven into the ugly corridor. He was for the first time somewhat irritated by the situation. Appendage to a star! Had he for once in his carefully planned life completely lost his head, and risked everything on a wild gamble? When she came toward him, ready for the street, he pulled himself together.

"Where shall we go? Do you mind the cafes?"

"People stare so, I seldom go. But it is all right to-night, if you do not mind that."

"Let's go to the Persian Garden and dance."

"All right."

Trent had never been in any public place with her, and he was totally unprepared for the effect she produced. As they followed the head waiter to a table, a noticeable whisper ran round the room, then silence. Then a youth, who had courage as well as champagne aboard, rose and lifted his gla.s.s.

"On your feet, all of you! To Bob, G.o.d bless her!"

With laughter everybody responded. Trent, slightly amused, secretly annoyed, watched Bob's expression. First astonishment, then concern for him, then genuine pleasure. They were not yet seated, so she lifted an imaginary gla.s.s to them.

"Thank you, friends. Here's to a short life and a merry one for us all!"

Applause greeted her, and as they took their seats she turned to Trent impulsively.

"I'm so sorry," she said; "you hate it, of course, but don't. It's only because they really love me."

"Suppose we don't try to explain things to each other, my lady."

The music began, and he rose and held out his hand to her. She had not danced with him before, so when he swung her away with the ease of a master, she had a sense of surprised pleasure before she gave herself up to the joy of it.

"I'd never have thought it of you, Paul," she said, as they took their seats. He laughed and lifted his gla.s.s.

"To the partnership!"

They drank to it gravely. Later when Paul unlocked her door for her, and turned to go on to his, she said: "Come in and talk over the party."

"Aren't you tired?"

"No. I feel as if I'd never sleep. I wish I were going on this minute, to play a new part before a Boston audience, on a rainy first night."

"That would call forth all your powers," he laughed, and followed her in. As she pulled the cord of the last lamp, she felt his eyes on her.

"Well, what do you think of me?" she challenged him.

"I think you are an inspired artist and a beautiful woman," he evaded.

She laughed at that.

"That must be an old joke," he objected.

"The whole thing is exquisitely funny: a strange man in my rooms at two in the morning compliments me on my art.... What do you want of life?"

she added disconcertingly.

His tongue shaped itself in an evasive reply, but the frank, boyish interest in her face changed his mind.

"I want several things: One of them is to be governor of New York."

"Good! I like people to know what they want and go after it."

"It isn't so easy, you know."

"All the better."

"Do you know anything about politics?"

"Lord, man, I'm Irish."

She led him on to talk of the situation in the political game, to line up for her his allies and enemies; to outline his campaign policy. His candidacy was to be announced in a few days. She leapt at the points in advance of him, questioned this and that--he talked to her as to a lieutenant. The clock chimed and caught his attention.

"Good heavens! why didn't you send me home?"

"What's the use of sleeping when there's something to talk about--when there's a fight to plan for."

"But my work must not interfere with your work." He came to shake hands with her. "It looks as if this partnership might prove a success."

"I'm no prophet!" she defied him.

Just before he closed the door he spoke:

"But the election would not be until next fall----"

"We could extend our contract," she retorted, and the door closed on his laugh.