Of what use after all for an adventuress like me to have sensitive feelings.
“And I am leaving this house at a quarter to seven. I wish you to know, Evangeline, pet!” she called after me, as I flew off to dress.
As a rule Lady Ver takes a good hour to make herself into the attractive darling she is in the evening—she has not to do much, because she is lovely by nature; but she potters, and squabbles with Welby, to divert herself, I suppose.
However, to-night, with the terror upon her of a husband fresh from a rough Channel passage, going to arrive at seven o’clock, she was actually dressed and down in the hall when I got there, punctually at 6.45, and in the twinkle of an eye we were rolling in the electric to Willis’s. I have only been there once before, and that to lunch in Mrs. Carruthers’ days with some of the Ambassadors, and it does feel gay going to a restaurant at night. I felt more excited than ever in my life, and such a situation, too.
Lord Robert—fruit défendu! and Mr. Carruthers empressé, and to be kept in bounds!
More than enough to fill the hands of a maiden of sixteen, fresh from a convent, as old Count Someroff used to say when he wanted to express a really difficult piece of work.
They were waiting for us just inside the door, and again I noticed that they were both lovely creatures, and both exceptionally distinguished looking.
Lady Ver nodded to a lot of people before we took our seats in a nice little corner. She must have an agreeable time with so many friends. She said something which sounds so true in one of our talks, and I thought of it then.
“It is wiser to marry the life you like, because, after a little, the man doesn’t matter.” She has evidently done that—but I wish it could be possible to have both—the Man and the Life!—Well! Well!
One has to sit rather close on those sofas, and as Lord Robert was not the host, he was put by me. The other two at a right angle to us.