The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

not to be named for one of Jupiter’s moons.” She hesitated, then exhaled. “Though if we are to be true allies, then—yes—you must call me Celeste. Of course you must—though I am quite unable to call you, what is it—Abelard? You are older, foreign, and it would in any case be ridiculous.” She smiled. “There. I am so very pleased to have made your acquaintance. I am sure I have never before met an officer of the Macklenburg Navy, nor a captain-surgeon of any kind.”
    Doctor Svenson took her hand awkwardly. He bent over to kiss it. She pulled it away, not unkindly.
    “You needn’t do that. It is not Germany.”
    “Of course…as you say.” Miss Temple saw with some small satisfaction that Doctor Svenson was blushing.
    She smiled at him, her gaze pointedly drifting to the pocket that held the second card. He noted this and hesitated, quite awkwardly. She did not see the difficulty—she had already seen the other—she would not be disoriented a second time.
    “Perhaps you would prefer to view it in a more private room—”
    “I would not.”
    Svenson sighed and fished out the card. He handed it to her with an evident wave of trepidation. “The man—it is not Bascombe—is my Prince—also a rake. It is the St. Royale Hotel. Perhaps you will know the woman—I know her as Mrs. Marchmoor…or the…ah…spectators. In this glass card—the, ah, vantage of experience—lies with the lady.” He stood and turned away from her, making a fuss of finding and lighting another cigarette, refusing to meet her eye. She glanced at the desk clerks, who were still watching with interest, despite being unable to hear the intense conversation, then to Svenson, who she saw had discreetly stepped away and turned to study the leaves of a large potted plant. Her curiosity was thoroughly piqued. She looked into the card.
    When she lowered the card some minutes later, Miss Temple’s face was flushed and her breathing rapid. She looked nervously around her, met the idly curious eye of the desk clerk and immediately turned away. She was relieved and somewhat touched to see that Doctor Svenson still had his back to her—for he clearly knew what she had been experiencing, if only by virtue of another woman’s body. She could not believe what had just happened—what had
not
happened, despite the intimacy, the utterly persuasive intimacy of the equally disquieting and delicious sensations. She had just—she could not believe—in
public,
for the first time, without warning!—and felt ashamed that she had so insisted, that she had not taken the Doctor’s strong hint to withdraw—and so had been—a man she did not know, nor had feelings for—though she had sensed the lady’s feelings for him, or for the experience—could those be separated? She shifted in her seat and straightened her dress, feeling to her dismay an undeniable, insistent itching tickle between her legs. If her aunt had at that moment asked again about her virtue, how should she answer? Miss Temple looked down at the glass rectangle in her hands, and marveled at the vast and thoroughly disquieting possibilities residing in such a creation.

    She cleared her throat. Doctor Svenson turned at once, his gaze flickering across her, refusing for a moment to meet her eyes. He stepped closer to the settee. She handed him the glass card and smiled up at him quite shyly.
    “My goodness…”
    He returned it to his pocket, touchingly mortified. “I am desperately sorry—I’m afraid I did not make clear—”
    “Do not trouble yourself—please, it is I who should apologize—though in truth I should prefer not to speak of it further.”
    “Of course—forgive me—it is vulgar of me to go on so.”
    She did not answer—for she could not answer without prolonging what she herself had just expressed a desire to curtail. There followed a pause. The Doctor looked at her with an uncomfortable expression. He had no idea what to say next. Miss Temple sighed.
    “The lady, whose—as you say, whose
vantage
is conveyed—do you know her?”
    “No, no—but did you…perhaps…recognize anyone?”
    “I could not be sure—they were all masked, but I think the lady—”
    “Mrs. Marchmoor.”
    “Yes. I believe I have seen her before. I do not know her name, nor even her face, for I have only seen her so masked.”
    She saw Doctor Svenson’s eyes widen. “At the engagement party?” He paused. “At—at Lord Vandaariff’s!”
    Miss Temple did not answer