He did not move on Ralph’s appearance, no doubt thinking their kinship close enough to make his nod and “Hullo!” a sufficient greeting.  Peter in intimacy was given to miscalculations of the sort, and Ralph’s first movement was to glance at Undine and see how it affected her.  But her eyes gave out the vivid rays that noise and banter always struck from them; her face, at such moments, was like a theatre with all the lustres blazing.  That the illumination should have been kindled by his cousin’s husband was not precisely agreeable to Marvell, who thought Peter a bore in society and an insufferable nuisance on closer terms.  But he was becoming blunted to Undine’s lack of discrimination; and his own treatment of Van Degen was always tempered by his sympathy for Clare.

He therefore listened with apparent good-humour to Peter’s suggestion of an evening at a petit theatre with the Harvey Shallums, and joined in the laugh with which Undine declared:  “Oh, Ralph won’t go—­he only likes the theatres where they walk around in bathtowels and talk poetry.—­Isn’t that what you’ve just been seeing?” she added, with a turn of the neck that shed her brightness on him.

“What?  One of those five-barrelled shows at the Francais?  Great Scott, Ralph—­no wonder your wife’s pining for the Folies Bergere!”

“She needn’t, my dear fellow.  We never interfere with each other’s vices.”

Peter, unsolicited, was comfortably lighting a cigarette.  “Ah, there’s the secret of domestic happiness.  Marry somebody who likes all the things you don’t, and make love to somebody who likes all the things you do.”

Undine laughed appreciatively.  “Only it dooms poor Ralph to such awful frumps.  Can’t you see the sort of woman who’d love his sort of play?”

“Oh, I can see her fast enough—­my wife loves ’em,” said their visitor, rising with a grin; while Ralph threw, out:  “So don’t waste your pity on me!” and Undine’s laugh had the slight note of asperity that the mention of Clare always elicited.

“To-morrow night, then, at Paillard’s,” Van Degen concluded.  “And about the other business—­that’s a go too?  I leave it to you to settle the date.”

The nod and laugh they exchanged seemed to hint at depths of collusion from which Ralph was pointedly excluded; and he wondered how large a programme of pleasure they had already had time to sketch out.  He disliked the idea of Undine’s being too frequently seen with Van Degen, whose Parisian reputation was not fortified by the connections that propped it up in New York; but he did not want to interfere with her pleasure, and he was still wondering what to say when, as the door closed, she turned to him gaily.

“I’m so glad you’ve come!  I’ve got some news for you.”  She laid a light touch on his arm.

Touch and tone were enough to disperse his anxieties, and he answered that he was in luck to find her already in when he had supposed her engaged, over a Nouveau Luxe tea-table, in repairing the afternoon’s ravages.