Leone's heart smote her, her face flushed.
"Yes," she replied; "I have once."
Lady Chandos looked up at her quickly.
"With a lady, I mean?"
"No," said Leone; "I have no lady friends; indeed, I have few friends of any kind, though I have many acquaintances."
Lady Marion's hand lingered caressingly on the white shoulder of Leone.
"Something draws me to you," she said; "and I cannot tell quite what it is. You are very beautiful, but it is not that; the beauty of a woman would never win me. It cannot be altogether your genius, though it is without peer. It is a strange feeling, one I can hardly explain—as though there was something sympathetic between us. You are not laughing at me, Madame Vanira?"
"No, I am not laughing," said Leone, with wondering eyes. How strange it was that Lance's wife, above all other women, should feel this curious, sympathetic friendship for her!
They entered the beautiful boudoir together, and Lady Marion, with pardonable pride, turned to her companion.
"Lord Chandos arranged this room for me himself. Have you heard the flattering, foolish name for me that the London people have invented? They call me the Queen of Blondes."