Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/148

146 "You really need no defense," Howard replied. "The public likes you. And so do I."

They lay in twin beds. It was daylight but the stimulating excitement of the night had not worn off.

"I really lost my temper. I was drunk," Howard gloomily added. "I forget this isn't Paris. American drink is so powerful that almost any quiet affair is likely to end in a riot. Did you mind the row?"

"I enjoyed it. You were splendid." Ken raised himself on an elbow and faced Howard, who was sitting up in the other bed.

"Do you know, you could live here quite comfortably, and I'd like it? This apartment is really big enough for both of us."

"What would poor Jules say about me then?"

"That's all so childish," Howard replied. "Jules is a great baby … or rather, an adolescent. I suppose he was about to acquire you—add you to his collection. He's quite primitive, a cave man of peculiar habits. He could be charming. Except for his private life which is a trifle unspeakable. In London he could be perfectly happy, accepted in the highest society. In Paris he could marry a Bourbon noblewoman, queen of the dykes, and live forever after, a decadent in a decaying chateau. In New York he's tragic—forty-six and no place to go. As a result he is never happy unless he is pursuing febrile youth. Poor thing. He can never light anywhere."

"Let's not talk about him," Ken said.

"No … let's not. And let's get some sleep. Tomorrow we shall relax. Sleep until three, then a drive, and dinner at L'Aiglon. What do you say to that?"