“After all,” she admitted, twanging the elastic round the bundle. “I’m not so badly off.”
“We must buy that silver casket for the letters,” Sylvia said. “His wedding-day draws near. I think I shall dress up like the Ancient Mariner and give them to him myself.”
“How much will a silver casket cost?” Lily asked.
Sylvia roughly estimated.
“It seems a good deal,” said Lily, thoughtfully. “I think I shall just send them to him in a cardboard box. I finished those chocolates after dinner. Yes, that will do quite well. After all, he treated me very badly and to get his letters back safely will be quite a good-enough present. What could he do with a silver casket? He’d probably use it for visiting-cards.”
That evening Sylvia, greatly content to have Lily to herself, again took her to the Café de la Chouette.
Her agent, who was drinking in a corner, came across to speak to her.
“Brazil?” she repeated, doubtfully.
“Thirty francs for three songs and you can go home at twelve. It isn’t as if you had to sit drinking champagne and dancing all night.”
Sylvia looked at Lily.