Miss Julie Gabriel had made her name as an actress in the year before the war, by showing her naked back to the audiences of a London theatre for ten minutes every night for six months. It was a charming back, people said. However, she had since retired from the stage, finding, no doubt, that she could make her fortune more swiftly and with less public exposure. She had a house in Curzon Street and a palace on the river, and young Royalty was supposed to have supped with her. People liked her—she’s common, but so full of life, they said. It was also said that George Tarlyon was the only man she had ever loved, and it was believed.
“George St. George,” a little voice said from the depths of a pillow to the ceiling, “you do know some low people, I do think....”
He was at once very considerate; he sat on the edge of the bed; he appealed to her as a friend.
“Virginia, you don’t really mind, do you? Because, of course, if you do we can have her thrown away at once....”
Virginia imagined Miss Gabriel being “thrown away” by milord’s orders.
“Oh, no! Now she’s here....”
“Besides,” she said, “haven’t I always said that you could ask any one you liked?”
And then Virginia had a grim thought about Mrs. Chester. Poor Ann! But she said:—
“Lois may mind, you know.”
Tarlyon threw back his head and laughed his laugh.