I murmured something about being flattered, but I do not think that she heard me.
"I should like," she continued, "to have you understand certain things which are in my mind just now, and which concern also—Mr. de Valentin."
I nodded. The Prince's identity was an open secret, but his incognito was jealously observed.
"I wonder," she said slowly, looking for the first time directly towards me, "whether you have ever seriously considered the question of the American woman—such as myself, for instance!"
I was a little puzzled, and no doubt I looked it. Mrs. Van Reinberg proceeded calmly. It was made clear to me that, for the present, at any rate, my rôle was to be simply that of listener.
"My own case," she said, "is typical. At least I suppose so! I speak for myself; and there are others in the house, at the present moment, who profess to feel as I do, and suffer—as I have done. In this country, we are taught that wealth is power. We, or rather our husbands, acquire or inherit it; afterwards we set ourselves to test the truth of that little maxim. We begin at home. In about three years, more or less, we reach our limitations. Then it begins to dawn upon us that, whatever else America is good for, it's no place for a woman with ambitions. We're on the top too soon, and when we're there it doesn't amount to anything."
"Which accounts," I remarked, "for the invasion of Europe!"
Mrs. Van Reinberg leaned her fair, little head upon her white be-ringed fingers, and looked steadily at me. I had never for a moment under-estimated her, but she had probably never so much impressed me. There was something Napoleonic about this slow unfolding of her carefully thought-out plans.
"Naturally," she answered. "What, however, so few of us are able to realize is our utter and miserable failure in what you are pleased to call that invasion."
"Failure!" I repeated incredulously. "I do not understand that. One hears everywhere of the social triumphs of the American woman."