CHAPTER IX.
Gervase saunters in to his hostess's boudoir the next morning, availing himself of the privilege accorded to that distant relationship which it pleases them both to raise into an intimate cousinship. It is a charming boudoir, style Louis Quinze, with the walls hung with flowered silk of that epoch, and the dado made of fans which belonged to the same period. Lady Usk writes here at a little secrétaire painted by Fragonard, and uses an inkstand said to have belonged to Madame de Parabère, made in the shape of a silver shell driven by a gold Cupidon; yet, despite the frivolity of these associations, she contrives to get through a vast mass of business at this fragile table, and has one of the soundest heads for affairs in all England. Gervase sits down and makes himself agreeable, and relates to her many little episodes of his recent experiences.
She is used to be the confidante of her men; she is young enough to make a friend who is attractive to them, and old enough to lend herself de bon c[oe]ur to the recital of their attachments to other women. Very often she gives them very good advice, but she does not obtrude it unseasonably. "An awfully nice woman all round," is the general verdict of her visitants to the boudoir. She does not seek to be more than that to them.
Gervase does not make any confidences: he only tells her things which amuse her and reveal much about her acquaintances, nothing about himself. He smokes some of her favorite cigarettes, praises some new china, suggests an alteration in the arrangement of the fans, and makes critical discourses à propos of her collection of snuff-boxes.
When he is going away, he lingers a moment intently looking at a patch-box of vernis Martin, and says, with studied carelessness, "Dolly, tell me, when did you make the acquaintance of Madame Sabaroff?"
"Last year, at Cannes: why do you want to know? She came and stayed with us at Orme last Easter. Is she not perfectly charming?"
"Very good-looking," says Gervase, absently. "You don't know anything about her, then?"
"Know?" repeats his hostess. "What should I know? What everybody does, I suppose. I met her first at the Duchesse de Luynes'. You can't possibly mean that there can be anything—anything——"
"Oh, no," replies Gervase; but it produces on his questioner the same effect as if he had said, "Oh, yes."