“Where is Petrovitch now?” he asked her.
She smiled to a passing acquaintance before she answered.
“In America, I believe. Still lionized and applauded. It seems to me, Eric, that men have nine lives to a woman’s one. Look at me … a worn-out wreck, while he——”
“A bad fellow, Connie,” said Eric; at which she bit her lip.
“I can’t let you say that. I love him.”
“Still?”
She nodded.
Eric looked at her as though he would like to see into her mind.
“Tell me this. I ask you as I might ask any woman in your place. Has it been worth it?”
Her eyes fell, and she seemed to be groping for words. Then she rose from the table, gathering up her long gloves and beaded bag.