“Oh, I shall always fall on my feet,” I answered, easily. “You see, I was born lucky, and that is better than being born rich.”
“How do you know you were born lucky?” she asked with interest.
I was not to be questioned out of my pose. “It’s like genius. An instinct teaches the genius to know himself, and something of the same thought instructs the lucky man.”
I spoke with such perfect good spirits and conviction that I could see she found herself believing me. She perched herself on the edge of the great desk which occupied the centre of the library and asked for a cigarette.
“Don’t smoke, Sibella,” said Grahame. He was the sort of man who would not have objected to the female belongings of anyone else smoking, but who objected to his own doing so, on the ground that it was his business to see that they suffered no material damage in the eyes of the world.
“What nonsense, Grahame! Of course I shall smoke—as much as I like—well no, not quite as much as I like because that would spoil my teeth, and I don’t intend to do anything that would injure my personal appearance.”
“That is a very patriotic resolve,” I laughed. “There is some beauty so striking that it becomes a national property.”
Sibella made a face.
“Thank you. I’m nothing of the kind.”
“For goodness’ sake don’t flatter Sibella,” said Grahame. “She is vain enough already.”