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It
was
a
proof
of
the
richness
and
multiplicity
of
the
spectacle
that
it
served
,
without
incongruity
,
for
so
different
a
purpose
as
the
background
of
Miss
Viner
’
s
enjoyment
.
As
a
mere
drop
-
scene
for
her
personal
adventure
it
was
just
as
much
in
its
place
as
in
the
evocation
of
great
perspectives
of
feeling
.
For
her
,
as
he
again
perceived
when
they
were
seated
at
their
table
in
a
low
window
above
the
Seine
,
Paris
was
“
Paris
”
by
virtue
of
all
its
entertaining
details
,
its
endless
ingenuities
of
pleasantness
.
Where
else
,
for
instance
,
could
one
find
the
dear
little
dishes
of
hors
d
’
oeuvre
,
the
symmetrically
-
laid
anchovies
and
radishes
,
the
thin
golden
shells
of
butter
,
or
the
wood
strawberries
and
brown
jars
of
cream
that
gave
to
their
repast
the
last
refinement
of
rusticity
?
Hadn
’
t
he
noticed
,
she
asked
,
that
cooking
always
expressed
the
national
character
,
and
that
French
food
was
clever
and
amusing
just
because
the
people
were
?
And
in
private
houses
,
everywhere
,
how
the
dishes
always
resembled
the
talk
—
how
the
very
same
platitudes
seemed
to
go
into
people
’
s
mouths
and
come
out
of
them
?
Couldn
’
t
he
see
just
what
kind
of
menu
it
would
make
,
if
a
fairy
waved
a
wand
and
suddenly
turned
the
conversation
at
a
London
dinner
into
joints
and
puddings
?
She
always
thought
it
a
good
sign
when
people
liked
Irish
stew
;
it
meant
that
they
enjoyed
changes
and
surprises
,
and
taking
life
as
it
came
;
and
such
a
beautiful
Parisian
version
of
the
dish
as
the
navarin
that
was
just
being
set
before
them
was
like
the
very
best
kind
of
talk
—
the
kind
when
one
could
never
tell
before
-
hand
just
what
was
going
to
be
said
!
Darrow
,
as
he
watched
her
enjoyment
of
their
innocent
feast
,
wondered
if
her
vividness
and
vivacity
were
signs
of
her
calling
.
She
was
the
kind
of
girl
in
whom
certain
people
would
instantly
have
recognized
the
histrionic
gift
.
But
experience
had
led
him
to
think
that
,
except
at
the
creative
moment
,
the
divine
flame
burns
low
in
its
possessors
.
The
one
or
two
really
intelligent
actresses
he
had
known
had
struck
him
,
in
conversation
,
as
either
bovine
or
primitively
“
jolly
”
.
He
had
a
notion
that
,
save
in
the
mind
of
genius
,
the
creative
process
absorbs
too
much
of
the
whole
stuff
of
being
to
leave
much
surplus
for
personal
expression
;
and
the
girl
before
him
,
with
her
changing
face
and
flexible
fancies
,
seemed
destined
to
work
in
life
itself
rather
than
in
any
of
its
counterfeits
.
The
coffee
and
liqueurs
were
already
on
the
table
when
her
mind
suddenly
sprang
back
to
the
Farlows
.
She
jumped
up
with
one
of
her
subversive
movements
and
declared
that
she
must
telegraph
at
once
.
Darrow
called
for
writing
materials
and
room
was
made
at
her
elbow
for
the
parched
ink
-
bottle
and
saturated
blotter
of
the
Parisian
restaurant
;
but
the
mere
sight
of
these
jaded
implements
seemed
to
paralyze
Miss
Viner
’
s
faculties
.
She
hung
over
the
telegraph
-
form
with
anxiously
-
drawn
brow
,
the
tip
of
the
pen
-
handle
pressed
against
her
lip
;
and
at
length
she
raised
her
troubled
eyes
to
Darrow
’
s
.
“
I
simply
can
’
t
think
how
to
say
it
.
”
“
What
—
that
you
’
re
staying
over
to
see
Cerdine
?
”
“
But
am
I
—
am
I
,
really
?
”
The
joy
of
it
flamed
over
her
face
.
Darrow
looked
at
his
watch
.
“
You
could
hardly
get
an
answer
to
your
telegram
in
time
to
take
a
train
to
Joigny
this
afternoon
,
even
if
you
found
your
friends
could
have
you
.
”
She
mused
for
a
moment
,
tapping
her
lip
with
the
pen
.
“
But
I
must
let
them
know
I
’
m
here
.
I
must
find
out
as
soon
as
possible
if
they
can
,
have
me
.
”
She
laid
the
pen
down
despairingly
.
“
I
never
could
write
a
telegram
!
”
she
sighed
.
