"I was," she replied. "I am disappointed."
He saw then that her silence was not a matter of indifference but of anger.
"What's wrong?" he asked quickly.
Her lips parted for a moment. One saw that her teeth were firmly clenched. There was a wicked light in her strange-colored eyes.
"It was that woman again," she muttered,—"the Duchess!"
"What about her?" Carraby demanded. "She's bound to be civil to you now, anyway."
"Is she?" Mrs. Carraby replied. "Is she, indeed! Well, her civility this afternoon has been such that I shall have to give up my stall. I can't stay there."
"What do you mean?" he demanded.
"Nothing except that before everybody she once more cut me dead, cut me wickedly," Mrs. Carraby declared. "You don't understand the tragedy of this to a woman. You are not likely to. She did it in such a way this time that there isn't a person worth knowing in London who isn't laughing about it at the present moment."
"Beast of a woman!" he muttered.