"Didn't you tell me you longed to get out of society and couldn't?"
"Yes. I long to get out gracefully, and—er—just a little bit later on in the season. You see, dear, there's the Ascot house, and the Duke and Duchess coming. I must stay in the cage till the race week's over."
And Mrs. Verulam looked at Chloe a little awkwardly, all the problems presented by the Florida divorce suit returning upon her.
"And I must stay in it, too, just—just till that lovely week's over," Chloe said with a coaxing accent. "Just till then, Daisy. I must see the Bun Emperor's palace, and Mr. Pettingham's coloured slides, and the Prince and Princess, and Sartorius—oh, I must! I must!"
"But how?"
"As Huskinson."
"What?"
Mrs. Verulam's voice grew shrill. But Chloe was persistent.
"Why not?" she urged with tender cunning. "You see I can do it. Nobody will recognise me. Huskinson has never been in London, and has no London friends. Women have lived as men before me. I read of one in the papers who was a sailor for forty years without being discovered, and of another who fought in battles, and got drunk, and swore, and was a man in every way."
"My dear Chloe, you mustn't drink! Oh, but it's impossible!"