Mlle. Girond stood staring at the door; then she turned to look at Nina;
then she burst out laughing.
"Quel ouragan, grand Dieu!" she cried. "Ma pauvre enfant, qu'allez vous
faire maintenant?" She turned to the door and laughed again. "Elle a la
tete pres du bonnet, n'est-ce pas?--mon Dieu, elle s'enflamme comme de
la poudre!"
But Nina did not stay to make any explanation; somewhat paler than
usual, and quite silent and reserved, she took up her position in the
wings; nor had she a word to say to Lionel when he came off the stage
and passed her--with a nod and a smile of greeting--on his way to his
room.
Then things went from bad to worse, and swiftly. On the very next
afternoon, which was a Sunday, Lionel was about to walk down to Sloane
Street, to have a chat and a cup of tea with Mrs. Grey and Nina; but
before going he thought he would just have time to scribble a piece of
music in an album that Lady Rosamund Bourne had sent him and affix his
name thereto. He brought his writing materials to the table and opened
the big volume; and he was glancing over the pages (Lady Rosamund had
laid some very distinguished people, mostly artists, under contribution,
and there were some interesting sketches) when the house-porter came up
and presented a card.
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