"Is Mr. Masterson here?" Anthony questioned the head waiter, who hastened to meet the arriving couple.
"Not yet, Mr. Adriance," the man answered deferentially. "At twelve, he comes. May I show you a table, sir?"
"Yes. Not too near the music--Mrs. Adriance and I want to hear each other speak."
"Certainly, sir. The drum _will_ be loud, sir; but the dancers like it."
Elsie caught the man's side glance of respectful curiosity and interest directed toward herself, and understood why Anthony deliberately had fixed her identity as his wife. Pride warmed her, and love of his consideration for her; suddenly she was able to enjoy the scene around her. She felt no self-consciousness, even when the elaborately gowned and coifed women glanced over her appraisingly as she passed by their tables. She looked back at them, serenely sure of herself. She was not at all aware that many of the men stared at her with startled admiration of a visitor alien to this atmosphere. Adriance saw well enough, however. Elsie had an innocent dignity of carriage that, joined with her gravely candid gaze, was not a little imposing. Moreover her pure, bright color and clear eyes were disconcertingly natural beside the artificial beauties. Pride of possession tingled agreeably through him; he had not thought of this or expected the emotion.
When the two were seated opposite one another, the regard they exchanged was of glowing content. Adriance ordered supper with the interest of appetite and with a fine knowledge of her tastes and his own. Then, at ease, they smiled at each other. The extravagance of the feast was of no moment. The utter simplicity of their daily life made Anthony's salary more than sufficient; they already possessed the resource of a bank account.
So far, there had been no music, except faint echoes from the room below. Now a tinkle of strings sounded delicately, swelling from a single note into a full, minor waltz melody. Turning, Elsie saw the musicians. They were negroes; not a band or an orchestra, merely a pianist, two men with mandolins and as many with banjoes, and one who handled with amazing dexterity a whole set of sound producers; a drum, cymbals, bells, a gong, even an automobile horn. From one to another instrument, as the character of the piece demanded, this performer's hands and feet flew with accuracy and ludicrous speed. But the music was more than good, it was unique, inspired; it snared the feet and the senses. All round sounded the scraping of chairs pushed back, as men and women rose to answer the call. In one short moment the place changed from a restaurant to a ball-room.