Chloe sobbed. It was a bitter moment for her. She looked at the invitation-cards. She thought of the panthers and of the Prince and Princess, and became rapidly, and very naturally, hysterical.
"Is it—oh, is it quite impossible?" she said in a broken voice.
"Quite. If you were a man, now!"
Chloe lifted her head.
"If you were a man," Mrs. Verulam continued, in the voice of a philosopher, "that paragraph might open the cage-door for you. London is very fond of wicked men—forgive me, darling!—of men who are supposed, and hoped, to be wicked. With your wealth, your history, and a different sex, you would be a great success this season."
"Oh, why am I not a man?"
"Marriner—she's my maid, and marvellously well informed about everything—Marriner might know. I can't tell."
"And I have been a man. How cruel it all is!"
Mrs. Verulam was really surprised this time. For a moment she thought that Chloe's brain was turned by Huskinson's action and its results.
"Chloe dear, collect yourself," she said firmly. "Pull yourself together, darling. Don't deceive yourself even for a moment You have always been what you are now—a woman."