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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Yellow Crayon"

Au revoir, all of you. Good-bye, Laura!"
Her friends passed on towards the great swing doors. Lady Carey
retraced her steps slowly towards the supper-room, and made some
languid inquiries of the head waiter as to a missing handkerchief.
Then she came again slowly down the broad way and reached Mr. Sabin.
He rose to his feet.
"I thank you very much for your note," he said. "You have something,
I believe, to say to me."
She stood before him for a moment in silence, as though not unwilling
that he should appreciate the soft splendour of her toilette. The
jewels which encircled her neck were priceless and dazzling; the soft
material of her gown, the most delicate shade of sea green, seemed
to foam about her feet, a wonderful triumph of allegoric dressmaking.
She saw that he was studying her, and she laughed a little uneasily,
looking all the time into his eyes.
"Shockingly overdressed, ain't I?" she said. "We were going straight
to Carmarthen House, you know. Come and sit in this corner for a
moment, and order me some coffee. I suppose there isn't any less
public place!"
"I fear not," he answered. "You will perhaps be unobserved behind
this palm."
She sank into a low chair, and he seated himself beside her. She
sighed contentedly.
"Dear me!" she said. "Do men like being run after like this?"
Mr.


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