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

"The Yellow Crayon"

She paused for a
few moments in the portico to finish buttoning her gloves.
"Many thanks for my lunch," she said, nodding to him carelessly.
"I'm sure I've been a delightful companion."
"You have been a very tormenting one," he answered gloomily as he
followed her out on to the pavement.
"You should try Lucille," she suggested maliciously.
He stood by her side while they waited for her carriage, and looked
at her critically. Her slim, elegant figure had never seemed more
attractive to him. Even the insolence of her tone and manner had
an odd sort of fascination. He tried to hold for a moment the
fingers which grasped her skirt.
"I think," he whispered, "that after you Lucille would be dull!"
She laughed.
"That is because Lucille has morals and a conscience," she said,
"and I have neither. But, dear me, how much more comfortably one
gets on without them. No, thank you, Prince. My coupe is only
built for one. Remember."
She flung him a careless nod from the window. The Prince remained
on the pavement until after the little brougham had driven away.
Then he smiled softly to himself as he turned to follow it.
"No!" he said. "I think not! I think that she will not get our
good friend Souspennier. We shall see!"

CHAPTER XXIV
A barely furnished man's room, comfortable, austere, scholarly.


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