"
He flung himself from the room. Lady Carey went back to her coffee
and letters. She sent for Annette.
"Annette," she directed, "we shall go to Melton to-morrow. Wire
Haggis to have the Lodge in order, and carriages to meet the midday
train. I daresay I shall take a few people down with me. Let
George go around to Tattershalls at once and make an appointment
for me there at three o'clock this afternoon. Look out my habits
and boots, too, Annette."
Lady Carey leaned back in her chair for a moment with half-closed
eyes.
"I think," she murmured, "that some of us in our youth must have
drunk from some poisoned cup, something which turned our blood into
quicksilver. I must live, or I must die. I must have excitement
every hour, every second, or break down. There are others too
--many others. No wonder that that idiot of a man in Harley
Street talked to me gravely about my heart. No excitement. A
quiet life! Bah! Such wishy-washy coffee and only one cigarette."
She lit it and stood up on the hearthrug. Her eyes were half
closed, every vestige of colour had left her cheeks, her hand was
pressed hard to her side. For a few minutes she seemed to struggle
for breath. Then with a little lurch as though still giddy, she
stooped, and picking up her fallen cigarette, thrust it defiantly
between her teeth.
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