A wicked little contrivance with
an ivory handle. I should like to see him use it."
Lucille shuddered. This tete-a-tete did not amuse her. She rose
and looked over one of the bridge tables for a minute. The Prince,
who was dealing, looked up with a smile.
"Be my good angel, Countess," he begged. "Fortune has deserted me
to-night. You shall be the goddess of chance, and smile your
favours upon me."
A hard little laugh came from the chair where Lady Carey sat. She
turned her head towards them, and there was a malicious gleam in
her eyes.
"Too late, Prince," she exclaimed. "The favours of the Countess
are all given away. Lucille has become even as one of those
flaxen-haired dolls of your mountain villages. She has given her
heart away, and she is sworn to perpetual constancy."
The Prince smiled.
"The absence," he said, glancing up at the clock, "of that most
fortunate person should surely count in our favour."
Lucille followed his eyes. The clock was striking ten. She
shrugged her shoulders.
"If the converse also is true, Prince," she said, "you can
scarcely have anything to hope for from me. For by half-past ten
he will be here."
The Prince picked up his cards and sorted them mechanically.
"We shall see," he remarked. "It is true, Countess, that you are
here, but in this instance you are set with thorns.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139