"Geoffrey? Somewhere in the Balkans, isn't he?—making a revolution."
Darrell nodded.
"I remember. They say he is with the revolutionary committee at Marinitza. Meanwhile there is a new volume of poems out—to-day," said Darrell, glancing at a newspaper thrown down beside him.
"I have seen it. The 'portrait' at the end—"
"Is Lady Kitty." They spoke under their breaths.
"Unmistakable, I think," said Kitty's best friend. "As poetry, it seems to me the best thing in the book, but the audacity of it!" She raised her eyebrows in a half-unwilling, half-contemptuous admiration.
"Has she seen it?"
Mrs. Alcot replied that she had not noticed any copy in the house, and that Kitty had not spoken of it, which, given the Kitty-nature, she probably would have done, had it reached her.
Then they both fell into reverie, from which Darrell emerged with the remark:
"I gather that last year some very important person interfered?"