"Yet she and I are no
strangers. She is one who loves to taste--no, to drink--deeply
of all the experiences of life. Why should we blame her, you and
I? Have we not the same desire?"
Mr. Sabin lit a cigarette.
"Once, perhaps," he remarked. "You must not forget that I am no
longer a young man."
She leaned towards him.
"You will die young," she murmured. "You are not of the breed of
men who grow old."
"Do you mean to turn my head?" he asked her, with a humorous smile.
"It would be easier," she answered, "than to touch your heart."
Then Lucille looked across at them--and Mr. Sabin suddenly
remembered that Reginald Brott knew them both only as strangers.
"Muriel," she said, "you are behaving disgracefully."
"I am doing my best," Lady Carey answered, "to keep you in
countenance."
The eyes of the two women met for a moment, and though the smiles
lingered still upon their faces Lady Carey at any rate was not able
to wholly conceal her hatred. Lucille shrugged her shoulders.
"I am doing my best," she said, "to convert Mr. Brott."
"To what?" Lady Carey asked.
"To a sane point of view concerning the holiness of the aristocracy,"
Lucille answered. "I am afraid though that I have made very little
impression. In his heart I believe Mr. Brott would like to see us
all working for our living, school-teachers and dressmakers, and
that sort of thing, you know.
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