By the
bye, she is anxious to leave us now that the Brott affair is over.
Do you think that the Prince will agree?"
Lady Carey's face hardened.
"I am sure that he will not," she said coolly. "There are reasons
why she may not at present be allowed to rejoin her husband."
The Duchess used her needles briskly.
"For my part," she said, "I can see no object in keeping her here
any longer. Mr. Brott has shown himself quite capable of keeping
her at arm's length. I cannot see what further use she is."
Lady Carey heard the flutter of skirts outside and rose.
"There are wheels within wheels," she remarked. "My dear Lucille,
what a charming toilette. We shall have the lady journalists
besieging us in our box. Paquin, of course. Good-night, Duchess.
Glad to see you're getting on with the socks, or stockings, do you
call them?"
Insolent aristocratic, now and then attractive in some strange
suggestive way, Lady Carey sat in front of the box and exchanged
greetings with her friends. Presently the Prince came in and took
the chair between the two women. Lady Carey greeted him with a nod.
"Here's Lucille dying to return to her lawful husband," she remarked.
"Odd thing, isn't it? Most of the married women I ever knew are
dying to get away from theirs. You can make her happy or miserable
in a few moments.
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