I was certain that so far Sir Anthony had not even been permitted to declare himself. Sibella was vain enough of his attention to keep him dangling after her, but she had no notion of making herself cheap to the men of a society the women of which she was anxious to propitiate.
I suppose Lionel thought that an old lover like myself, who had been discarded for years, was no possible danger. Possibly—for the minx was clever—he had absolute confidence in Sibella.
At any rate, after lunch he left us together. It was the first time we had been alone since her marriage.
It was a little awkward, but I exerted myself to free the situation from constraint.
“Things have changed,” I said, lighting another cigarette with a languid feeling of enjoyment at being alone with her, and conscious that the ménage I had contemplated had begun.
“You are wonderful, Israel. It is quite extraordinary how people talk about you, and quote what you say, and yet——” She paused, and I laughed.
“And yet I began life in a third-rate Clapham lodging-house, and am still only a clerk in a stockbroker’s office.”
“As far as that goes, I can’t quite see why people make such a fuss of us.”
“Can’t you? Then look in the glass.”
Sibella rippled with laughter. She loved flattery, and expected it.