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

"The Yellow Crayon"

Had you any
engagement with Lucille to-night?"
She watched him mercilessly. He was colouring like a boy. Lady
Carey's thin lips curled. She had no sympathy with such amateurish
love-making. Nevertheless, his embarrassment was a great relief to
her.
"She promised to be here," he answered stiffly.
"Everything depends upon your being honest with me," she continued.
"You will see from my question that I know. Was there not something
said about supper at your rooms before or after the dance?"
"I cannot discuss this matter with you or any living person," he
answered. "If you know so much why ask me?"
Lady Carey could have shaken the man, but she restrained herself.
"It is sufficient!" she declared. "What I cannot understand is why
you are here--when Lucille is probably awaiting for you at your
rooms."
He started from his chair as though he had been shot.
"What do you mean?" he exclaimed. "She was to--"
He stopped short. Lady Carey shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh, written you or something, I suppose!" she exclaimed. "Trust
an Englishman for bungling a love affair. All I can tell you is
that she left Dorset House in a hansom without the others, and said
some thing about having supper with some friends."
Brott sprang to his feet and took a quick step towards the exit.


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