Later, I learned that was not all of the history of Stella.  Fifteen hundred dollars a week of her own money, besides lavish presents, had been too much for her.  Even Phelps’s money had had no over-burdening attraction for her.  The world—­at least that part of it which spends money on Broadway, had been open to her.  Jack Daring had charmed her for a while—­hence the engagement.  Of Shirley, I did not even know.  Perhaps the masterful crime roles he played might have promised some new thrill, with the possibility that they expressed something latent in his life.  At any rate, she had dilettanted about him, to the amazement and dismay of Marilyn.  That we knew.

The dinner hour was approaching, and, in spite of the urgent invitation of Manton, Leigh was forced to excuse himself to keep a previous appointment.  I felt, though, that he would have broken it if only Enid had added her urging.  But she did not, much to the relief of Millard.  Manton took it in good part.  Perhaps he was wise enough to reflect that many other afternoons were in the lap of the future.

“What is Manton up to?” Kennedy spoke to Millard.  “Is it off with the old and on with the new?  Is Phelps to be cast aside like a squeezed-out lemon, and Leigh taken on for a new citrus fruit?”

Millard smiled.  He said nothing, but the knowing glance was confirmation enough that in his opinion Kennedy had expressed the state of affairs correctly.

Millard hastened to the side of Enid at once and we learned then that they had a theater engagement together and that Millard had the tickets in his pocket.  Once more I realized it was no new or recent acquaintanceship between these two.  Again I wondered what woman had been named in Stella Lamar’s divorce suit, and again dismissed the thought that it could be Enid.

Kennedy took his hat and handed me mine.  “We must eat, Walter, as well as the rest of them,” he remarked, when Manton led the way to the door.

I was loath to leave and I suppose I showed it.  The truth was that little Enid Faye had captivated me.  It was hard to tear myself away.

In the entrance I hesitated, wondering whether I should say good-by to her.  She seemed engrossed with Millard.

A second time she took me clean off my feet.  While I stood there, foolishly, she left Millard and rushed up, extending her little hand and allowing it to rest for a moment clasped in mine.

“We didn’t have a single opportunity to get acquainted, Mr. Jameson,” she complained, real regret in the soft cadences of her voice.  “Won’t you phone me sometime?  My name’s in the book, or I’ll be at the studio—­”

I was tongue-tied.  My glance, shifting from hers because I was suddenly afraid of myself, encountered the gaze of Millard from behind.  Now I detected the unmistakable fire of jealousy in the eyes of the author.  I presume I was never built to be a heavy lover.  Up and down my spine went a shiver of fear.  I dropped Enid’s hand and turned away abruptly.