He looked up. At the same moment Lady Sellingworth looked up. Their eyes met. She smiled faintly, and her eyes mocked something or someone; fate, perhaps, him, or herself. He did not know what or whom they mocked.
The music stopped, and, after some applause, conversation broke out again.
“Have you given up Italy as you have given up Paris?” Miss Van Tuyn asked of Lady Sellingworth.
“Oh, yes, long ago. I only go to Aix now for a cure, and sometimes in the early spring to Cap Martin.”
“The hotel?”
“Yes; the hotel. I like the pine woods.”
“So do I. But, to my mind, there’s no longer a vestige of real romance on the French Riviera. Too many grand dukes have passed over it.”
Lady Sellingworth laughed.
“But I don’t seek romance when I leave London.”
“No?”