She
fairly deluged them with the spray of her admiring ejaculations in praise
of the musician--employing, hit or miss, every musical term that popped
into her vacuous head.
"Indeed,"--said the critic,--"I seem to have missed a treat." Then,
directly to the artist,--"And you say the violinist is wholly unknown to
you?"
"Wholly," returned the painter, shortly.
Conrad Lagrange saw a faint smile of understanding and disbelief flit for
an instant over the heavy face of James Rutlidge.
When the automobile, at last, was departing with the artist's guests; the
two friends stood for a moment watching it up the road to the west, toward
town. As the big car moved away, they saw Mrs. Taine lean forward to speak
to the chauffeur while James Rutlidge, who was in the front seat, turned
and shook his head as though in protest. The woman appeared to insist. The
machine slowed down, as though the chauffeur, in doubt, awaited the
outcome of the discussion. Then, just in front of that neighboring house,
Rutlidge seemed to yield abruptly, and the automobile turned suddenly in
toward the curb and stopped. Mrs. Taine alighted, and disappeared in the
depths of the orange grove.
Aaron King and Conrad Lagrange looked at each other, for a moment, in
questioning silence.
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