"How could I hate you?" Madame Zattiany smiled charmingly. "I had not the faintest idea you were discussing me."
"But why—why—did you shut yourself up so long after you came when you must have known how mother and all your old friends longed to see you again?"
"I was tired and resting." She frowned slightly. Such a question was a distinct liberty and she had never either taken or permitted liberties. But she banished the frown and met her tormentor's eyes blandly. She had no intention of losing her poise for a moment.
"Ah! I said it!" cried Mrs. de Lacey. "I knew it was not because you felt a natural hesitation in showing yourself. To me you seem brave enough for anything, but it must have taken a lot of courage."
"Courage?"
"Why, yes! Fancy—well, you see, I'm such a coward about what people say—especially if I thought they'd laugh at me—that if I'd done it I should have run off and hidden somewhere."
"Then what object in invoking the aid of science to defeat nature at one more point? And I can assure you, dear Mrs. de Lacey, that when you are fifty-eight, if you have not developed courage to face the world on every count it will merely be because you have indulged too frequently in unbridled passions."
"Ah—yes—but you didn't have any qualms at all?"
"Certainly not. I confess I am surprised at your rather strained view of what is really a very simple matter."
"Simple? Why, it's the most extraordinary thing that ever happened."