"He was very much in earnest when I saw him at Sherry's in New
York," she remarked, "and he was altogether too clever for Mr.
Horser and our friends there. After all their talk and boasting
too. Why, they are ignorant of the very elements of intrigue."
Lucille sighed.
"Here," she said, "it is different. The Prince and he are ancient
rivals, and Raoul de Brouillac is no longer his friend. Muriel, I
am afraid of what may happen."
Lady Carey shrugged her shoulders.
"He is no fool," she said in a low tone. "He will not come here
with a magistrate's warrant and a policeman to back it up, nor will
he attempt to turn the thing into an Adelphi drama. I know him well
enough to be sure that he will attempt nothing crude. Lucille,
don't you find it exhilarating?"
"Exhilarating? But why?"
"It will be a game played through to the end by masters, and you,
my dear woman, are the inspiration. I think that it is most
fascinating."
Lucille looked sadly into the fire.
"I think," she said, "that I am weary of all these things. I seem
to have lived such a very long time. At Lenox I was quite happy.
Of my own will I would never have left it."
Lady Carey's thin lips curled a little, her blue eyes were full of
scorn. She was not altogether a pleasant woman to look upon. Her
cheeks were thin and hollow, her eyes a little too prominent, some
hidden expression which seemed at times to flit from one to the other
of her features suggested a sensuality which was a little incongruous
with her somewhat angular figure and generally cold demeanour.
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