I leaned towards her, half whispering,
“Lady Sibyl, I am glad to see this wretched play offends you.”
She turned her deep eyes on me in mingled surprise and amusement.
“Oh no, it doesn’t,” she declared—“I have seen so many like it. And I have read so many novels on just the same theme! I assure you, I am quite convinced that the so-called ‘bad’ woman is the only popular type of our sex with men,—she gets all the enjoyment possible out of life,—she frequently makes an excellent marriage, and has, as the Americans say ‘a good time all round.’ It’s the same thing with our convicted criminals,—in prison they are much better fed than the honest working-man. I believe it is quite a mistake for women to be respectable,—they are only considered dull.”
[p 89]
“Ah, now you are only joking!” I said with an indulgent smile. “You know that in your heart you think very differently!”
She made no answer, as just then the curtain went up again, disclosing the unclean ‘lady’ of the piece, “having a good time all round” on board a luxurious yacht. During the unnatural and stilted dialogue which followed, I withdrew a little back into the shadow of the box, and all that self-esteem and assurance of which I had been suddenly deprived by a glance at Lady Sibyl’s beauty, came back to me, and a perfectly stolid coolness and composure succeeded to the first feverish excitement of my mind. I recalled Lucio’s words—“I believe Lady Sibyl is for sale”—and I thought triumphantly of my millions. I glanced at the old earl, abjectly pulling at his white whiskers while he listened anxiously to what were evidently money schemes propounded by Lucio. Then my gaze came back appraisingly to the lovely curves of Lady Sibyl’s milk-white throat, her beautiful arms and bosom, her rich brown hair of the shade of a ripe chestnut, her delicate haughty face, languid eyes and brilliant complexion,—and I murmured inwardly—“All this loveliness is purchaseable, and I will purchase it!” At that very instant she turned to me and said—
“You are the famous Mr Tempest, are you not?”
“Famous?” I echoed with a deep sense of gratification—“Well,—I am scarcely that,—yet! My book is not published ...”
Her eyebrows arched themselves surprisedly.
“Your book? I did not know you had written one?”