"I wouldn't be cruel to you for the world, Leo."
It was all pleasant enough; it was even exciting in its way; and Leo, at her wits' end for any variety, thirsting for emotions, sensations, pleasure, pain, comedy, tragedy—found the passing hour all too short.
This was not the real thing, but it was something. There were moments when even as a lover Val was not absurd, and one beautiful moment in particular when he made her ashamed. He accused her of leading him on, and her conscience echoed the reproach.
But all too soon he was pacified; betraying how ephemeral was the mortification, and how easily healed the wound—and thereafter she played with him at will.
Cat and mouse play, perhaps, and the mouse had no chance from the first, but—Leo did not sigh when once more alone, and her wild spirits all that evening rather displeased everybody.
CHAPTER IX.
"I'D LIKE TO HAVE THINGS ON A SOUNDER BASIS."
In coquetry as in other matters, the old saying about the natural and the acquired taste holds good. Leonore, having once tasted blood, was not to be kept from it; exasperation and despair were thrown to the winds in the triumph of her first victory, and the ease with which she had brought Valentine Purcell to book turned her head. Its consequence was immediate.
"That's the jolliest little widow I have seen for ages," pronounced Mr. George Augustus Butts, after seeing the Boldero ladies to their carriage at the close of a prolonged call at his uncle's house. "It's all right, Aunt Laura. If she's on, I am. Mrs. Stubbs may become Mrs. Butts—why the very names seem to melt into each other, ha—ha—ha!"