our of dining in Calcutta
Gardens? Biddy, the day before, had arrived full of that excitement.
Peter explained that this was exactly the sad subject of his actual
_demarche_: the project of the dinner in Calcutta Gardens had, to his
exceeding regret, fallen to pieces. The fact was (didn't Nick know it?)
the night had been suddenly and perversely fixed for Miriam's premiere,
and he was under a definite engagement with her not to stay away from
it. To add to the bore of the thing he was obliged to return to Paris
the very next morning. He was quite awfully sorry, for he had promised
Lady Agnes: he didn't understand then about Miriam's affair, in regard
to which he had given a previous pledge. He was more grieved than he
could say, but he could never fail Miss Rooth: he had professed from the
first an interest in her which he must live up to a little more. This
was his last chance--he hadn't been near her at the trying time of her
first braving of the public. And the second night of the play wouldn't
do--it must be the first or nothing. Besides, he couldn't wait over till
Monday.

While Peter recited all his hindrance Nick was occupied in rubbing with
a cloth a palette he had just scraped. "I see what you mean--I'm very
sorry too. I'm sorry you can't give my mother this joy--I give her so
little."

"My dear fellow, you might give her a little more!" it came to Peter to
say. "It's rather too much to expect _me_ to make up for your
omissions!"

Nick looked at him with a moment's fixedness while he polished the
palette; and for that moment he felt the temptation to reply: "There's a
way you could do that, to a considerable extent--I think you guess
it--which wouldn't be intrinsically disagreeable." But the impulse
passed without expressing itself in speech, and he simply brought out;
"You can make this all clear to Biddy when she comes, and she'll make it
clear to my mother."

"Poor little Biddy!" Peter mentally sighed, thinking of the girl with
that job before her; but what he articulated was that this was exactly
why he had come to the studio. He had inflicted his company on Lady
Agnes the previous Thursday and had partaken of a meal with her, but had
not seen Biddy though he had waited for her, had hoped immensely she'd
come in. Now he'd wait again--dear Bid was thoroughly worth it.

"Patience, patience then--you've always me!" said Nick; to which he
subjoined: "If it's a question of going to the play I scarcely see