"Exactly. If I were Lady Jo." She looked at him with the faint smile still at her lips. "It won't cost you much to be generous, Charles," she said.
"How do you know what it costs?" He frowned at her suddenly. "You'll accuse me of being benevolent next. But I'm not benevolent, and I'm not going to be. I might be to Lady Jo, but not to you, ma chérie,—never to you!" His grin burst through his frown. "Come! Sit down! I'll get you a drink."
She turned to the deep settee, and sank down among tigerskins with a sigh. He opened a cupboard in the panelling of the wall, and there followed the chink of glasses and the cheery buzz of a syphon. In a few moments he came to her with a tall glass in his hand containing a frothy drink. "Look here, Juliette!" he said. "Come to France with me in the Night Moth, and we'll find Lady Jo!"
She accepted the drink and lay back without looking at him. "You always were an eccentric," she said. "I don't want to find Lady Jo."
He sat on the head of the settee at her elbow. "It's quite a fair offer," he said, as if she had not spoken. "You will—eventually—return from Paris, and no one will ever know. In these days a woman of the world pleases herself and is answerable to none. Mais, Juliette!" He reached down and coaxingly held her hand. "Pourquoi pas?"
She lifted her eyes slowly to his face. "I have told you," she said.
"You're not in earnest!" he protested.
She kept her look steadily upon him. "Charles Rex, I am in earnest."
His fingers clasped hers more closely. "But I can't allow it. We can't spare you. And you—yourself, Juliette—you will never endure life in a backwater. You will pine for the old days, the old friends, the old lovers,—as they will pine for you."
"No, never!" said Juliet firmly.