Reprise by Joan Smith Page B

were for her. A note in her own particular copy would confirm it.
    He counted heavily on the efficacy of poetry to appeal to a lady of literary leanings. By a great pressure on his inclinations, he waited for the auspicious moment to approach her, after she had read and digested them.
    For the meanwhile, he had plenty to do. A more concrete appeal to her hedonism, a quality which was in fact lacking to her, was the care taken for the redoing of their mutual study in the new house on Berkeley Square. A pair of desks were found, his own having by legend, probably false, been used by Alexander Pope, whom he idolized, and hers by Madame du Barry. He had the walls lined with shelves, which were in turn lined with his books, with the requisite two rows left for her few volumes. Pictures, chairs, drapes and the necessary pieces were also chosen with care, as he envisaged many happy hours spent there. He had arranged the desks so she would have a view of the garden, and he a view of her.
    When his sonnets came off the press, he got the first copy and inscribed it, after careful thought, to her using the words, “For Prudence, my inspiration, with love from Allan.” He would have put more, but wished to express the thought without becoming maudlin. The copy was placed on Madame du Barry’s desk, waiting for her.
    The night for the opening of Shilla finally came-- one of the opening salvos of the season. The play was an immediate success. Sitting in Clarence’s box, Prudence’s cheeks were flushed as she recognized her own sentiments, even her own words, being flung into the theater to be received with rapture. It quite went to her head. Lest the listeners not realize Clarence could have read it all long before had he wished, he decided he had done so, and occasionally reached across Mrs. Hering to inquire, “He has changed that bit, I think?” of Prudence. He laughed and clapped at all the right places, like everyone else, only a few seconds after the others, and several times discovered amusement where no one else did.
    During the intermission he was busy hobbling over to acquaintances to ask, “We will be seeing you at Dammler’s party after the play, I fancy?” and was aux anges when the reply was a jealous negative. He hadn’t had such a night in his life before. The expensive theater box had been a sound investment. Next year he would get a better one--closer to the royal family, and hang the expense. He even enjoyed the play, especially the crowds of fillies all with their black hair and funny looking outfits.
    "There is a dashed pretty young thing--the one in the pink,” Clarence said to the company at large. Prudence had been spending a good part of her attention to search out Cybele, a job made nearly impossible by the black hair of all the girls. Training her glasses on this particular one, she discovered it to be Cybele. She had no lines to say, but did her little dance with her hips swaying very convincingly. At one point she was the last to leave the stage, having a flirtation with the Mogul. Clarence leaned forward to get a better look at her. “I would like to paint her,” he said. “An excellent subject. She would be no trouble at all.”
    At length the performance was over, Dammler was taking his bows, and Prudence thought--it was hard to be sure--that he looked in her direction. She was so proud she wanted to burst. The cream of society was on its feet applauding him. She marveled that she had actually spurned an offer of marriage from this man, who seemed at that moment the most desirable man in the world. How had she been so foolish? The doubts of the past months were clapped and cheered away amidst the uproar in the theater. She could be the hostess of his party this night of his triumph had she wished. Lady Dammler, standing beside him, secure in her future, bathed in the glow of his achievement. Instead, she was to go as a mere guest, and grateful even for that, to the house bought for her. A