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She idled with a
book in her lap.
"On what?"
"On those who go, what costumes are worn, and how much beauty and art
appear."
"But the trouble! Does it pay? What return does one get?"
"If all admire, half are envious, some are jealous, and one is
devoted--isn't that enough?" I think I was a fool that night.
"You seem to understand women," she said, with a puzzling and not quite
satisfactory smile. "Yes, all that is something."
Though I was looking at the sea rather than at her, I saw again that
inquiring look in her eyes--such a measuring look as a recruiting
sergeant might give a victim of the Queen's shilling.
After a moment's pause she continued, I thought, abstractedly: "As what
should you go?"
I answered lightly and without premeditation, "As Caius Cassius. Why
should you not appear as Portia?"
She lifted her eyebrows at me.
"As Portia?"
"As Portia, the wife of Brutus," I blundered on, at the same time
receiving her permission, by a nod, to light my cigar.
"The pious, love-sick wife of Brutus!" This in a disdainful tone, and the
white teeth clicked softly together.


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