“How perfect!” said Marcia.
“Isn’t it? Aren’t you feeling more Luciaphil? I’m sure you are. You must enjoy her: it shows such a want of humour to be annoyed with her. And really I’ve taken a great deal of trouble to get people she will revel in. There’s the Prime Minister, there’s you, there’s Greatorex the pianist who’s the only person who can play Stravinski, there’s Professor Bonstetter the psycho-analyst, there’s the Italian Ambassador, there’s her lover, there’s Tony.... I can’t go on. Oh, and I must remember to tell her that Archie Singleton is Babs’s brother, or she may say something dreadful. And then there are lots who will revel in Lucia, and I the foremost. I’m devoted to her; I am really, Marcia. She’s got character, she’s got an iron will, and I like strong talkative women so much better than strong silent men.”
“Yes, she’s got will,” said Marcia. “She determined to come to my ball, and she came. I allow I gave her the chance.”
“Those are the chances that come to gifted people,” said Adele. “They don’t come to ordinary people.”
“Suppose I flirted violently with her lover?” said Marcia.
Adele’s eyes grew bright with thought.
“I can’t imagine what she would do,” she said. “But I’m sure she would do something that scored. Otherwise she wouldn’t be Lucia. But you mustn’t do it.”
“Just one evening,” said Marcia. “Just for an hour or two. It’s not poaching, you see, because her lover isn’t her lover. He’s just a stunt.”
Adele wavered.
“It would be wonderful to know what she would do,” she said. “And it’s true that he’s only a stunt.... Perhaps for an hour or two to-morrow, and then give him back.”