“What strange things you say,” murmured Mrs. Fellowes, with mild rebuke. “I’m sure no girl received more attention than you have tonight. I sat and watched you, my dear, and a spectator sees more of the game than a player.”
“You are right, it is all a game, a gamble,” retorted Lady Bell. “All those nice young men were playing pitch and toss who should make the hardest running with the great heiress. Do you think I am blind? I can see through them all, and I despise them. There isn’t a man among them but would pay me the same court if I were as plain as Lucifer——”
“My dear Bell——”
“But it is true,” said Lady Bell. “I can read them all. And if they knew how I despised them, even while I smile upon them, they would keep at arm’s length for very shame. I wish I hadn’t a penny in the world.”
“My dear Bell!” ejaculated Mrs. Fellowes, really and truly shocked at such a fearfully profane wish.
“I do! I do! I should then find out if any one of them cared for me—for myself. You say I am beautiful, but you are so partial; do you think I am beautiful enough to cause any man to risk his all in life for my sake?”
“I don’t know. I don’t just follow you,” said poor Mrs. Fellowes.
“No, you are half asleep,” retorted Lady Bell. “There, curl yourself up and snooze. I shan’t talk any more.”
Lady Bell leaned forward, and looked up at the stars—the same stars that seemed so numerous to poor Jack—and pondered over the events of the evening.
It was true that a prince of the blood had danced there with her; it was true that, all through the evening, she had been surrounded by a court of the best men in London; it was true that she had sent one half the women home burning with envy and malice and all uncharitableness; but still she was not happy.