Lady Anne laughed gayly.
"Now, my little friend," she said, "let us understand one another. There is no more 'miladi.' I am Anne—Anne to you and Anne to Julien here. I've finished with the 'miladi' affair. I dare say I shouldn't care about being a model, but all the same I am going to earn my own living."
"Earn your own living!" Mademoiselle Rignaut echoed, in something like horror.
She had met the Duke and the Duchess—she had traveled even to London and had passed the night beneath the ducal roof. Lady Anne's mother had very sound ideas of economy, and Mademoiselle Rignaut was cheap and yet undoubtedly French.
"Earn my own living, without a doubt," Lady Anne repeated, helping herself to a roll. "You don't mind my eating some bread and butter, do you, Julien? I couldn't lunch—I was much too excited, and the tea on the train was filthy. Why, of course I am going to earn my own living," she continued. "I've only got a few thousand francs with me, and some jewelry. I believe I have got a small income, but Heaven knows whether they will let me have it!"
Julien's eyes were suddenly lit with humor.
"Why, the Duke will be here for you to-morrow," he exclaimed, "to take you back!"
She leaned back in her seat with an air of deliberation.
"I'm free," she insisted. "I'm twenty-six years old, thank Heaven! Twenty-six years I've had of it—enough to crush any one. No more! You know, I like this sense of freedom," she went on. "It's perfectly amazing how young I feel. Julien, do you remember when mother wouldn't let us lunch together at the Ritz without a chaperon?"
"I do," he assented. "I'm sure we didn't need one, either."