He shot a quick glance at Lady
Carey. Almost at once she rose from her chair and came across to
them.
"The Prince's watch-dog," Lucille murmured. "Hateful woman! She is
bound hand and foot to him, and yet--"
Her eyes met his, and he laughed.
"Really," he said, "you and I in our old age might be hero and
heroine of a little romance--the undesiring objects of a hopeless
affection!"
Lady Carey sank into a low chair by their side. "You two," she
said, with a slow, malicious smile, "are a pattern to this wicked
world. Don't you know that such fidelity is positively sinful, and
after three years in such a country too?"
"It is the approach of senility," Mr. Sabin answered her. "I am
an old man, Lady Muriel!"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"You are like Ulysses," she said. "The gods, or rather the
goddesses, have helped you towards immortality."
"It is," Mr. Sabin answered, "the most delicious piece of flattery
I have ever heard."
"Calypso," she murmured, nodding towards Lucille, "is by your side."
"Really," Mr. Sabin interrupted, "I must protest. Lucille and I
were married by a most respectable Episcopalian clergyman. We have
documentary evidence. Besides, if Lucille is Calypso, what about
Penelope?"
Lady Carey smiled thoughtfully.
"I have always thought," she said, "that Penelope was a myth.
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