When I arrived at the box with my glass someone was standing behind Pat's chair.
Her head was turned back and she was talking with him vivaciously.
"This is Herr Breuer, Robert," said she.
Herr Ox, thought I looking at him with displeasure.
Robert, she said, not Robby.
I put the glass on the parapet and prepared to wait until the fellow went.
He had on a marvellously cut dinner suit.
But he chattered about the production and the audience and still he stayed.
Pat turned to me.
"Herr Breuer has asked if we would not like to go to 'The Cascade' afterwards." "Just as you like," said I. Herr Breuer explained one might be able to get a dance perhaps.
He was very polite and I liked him quite well actually.
Only he had the disagreeable elegance and facility which I imagined could not fail of its effect on Pat, and which I myself did not possess.
Suddenly—I could hardly believe my ears—I heard him say to Pat, "my dear/' Though there might have been a hundred good reasons why he should, I should have liked to heave him over into the orchestra on the spot.
The bell sounded.
The musicians tuned their instruments.
The violins made subdued little flageolette runs.
"Agreed then, we meet at the exit," said Breuer and went st lust
"Who's the tramp?" I asked.
"He isn't a tramp, he's a very nice man.
An old friend."
"I've something against old friends," said I.
"Darling," replied Pat, "but listen—"
Cascade, thought I and reckoned up my money, damned expensive dive.
I followed along in sullen curiosity.
This Breuer had recalled to me Frau Zalewski's ill-omened croakings.
He was already waiting for us at the entrance.
I beckoned a taxi.
"Don't bother," said Breuer. "There's room in my car."
"Good," said I.
It would have been ridiculous to do otherwise. But it annoyed me all the same.
Pat recognized Breuer's car.
It was a big Packard, standing in the car park opposite.
She walked straight up to it.
"It's a different colour, though," said she, stopping in front of it.
"Yes, grey," replied Breuer. "Don't you like it better?"
"Much better." Breuer turned to me. "And you?
Do you like the colour?"
"I don't know what it was before," said I.
"Black."
"Black also looks very well."
"True.
But one must have a change.
I'm going to do it again in the autumn."
We drove to
"The Cascade," a very smart dance club with an excellent band.
"Seems to be full," said I delightedly as we stood at the entrance.
"Pity," said Pat.
"Ach, we'll fix that," announced Breuer and exchanged a few words with the manager.
He seemed to be well known here, for we actually had a table brought and some chairs; and a few minutes later we were sitting in the best place in the whole room, whence we could survey the whole dance floor.
The band was playing a tango.