breathed.

He wondered a little to find her seeking privacy, even for a few days.
Just a whim of hers, no doubt! Was she not ever a creature of whims? And
it would not last. He remembered how once young Eric Baron had told him
that she needed popularity as a flower needs the sun. His rose of the
world had not been created to bloom unseen. The boy had been absurdly
long-suffering, unbelievably blind. How bitter, how cruel, had been his
disillusion, Courteney could only guess. Had she ever cared, ever
regretted, he wondered? But no, he was sure she had not. She would care
for nothing until the bloom faded. Then, indeed, possibly, remorse might
come.

Someone passing his table paused and spoke--the managing director of the
Hurley Bay Theatre and of a score of others, a man he knew slightly,
older than himself. "The hive swarms in vain," he said. "The queen
refuses to emerge."

Courteney's expression was supremely cynical. "I was not aware that she
was of such a retiring disposition," he said.

The other man laughed. He was an American, Ellis Grant by name, a man of
gross proportions, but keen-eyed, iron-jawed, and successful. "There is
a rumour," he said, "that she is about to be married. Possibly that
might account for her shyness."

His look was critical. Courteney threw back his head almost with
defiance. "It doesn't interest me," he said curtly.

Ellis Grant laughed again and passed on. He valued his acquaintanceship