Mr. Herbert left the theatre and walked up and down outside, mad with rage and heartache. Fool, fool, that he had been; to love her, to trust her. She had killed love and trust, he assured himself; while all the time he knew she had not, that was the greatest torture.
Mrs. Herbert and Sir Ralph had a box at the Grosvenor. Her dress was most becoming, which is the wine that maketh glad the heart of woman; but, strange to say, she could not forget her husband. It is usually so easy to forget.
She planned a breakfast party next day. Jack would come to take her out; she loved a cockney day with him, when they travelled first-class and called it cockney. There was skating, they would go together; and she would forgive him with effect and solemnity.
“Herbert’s party comprises Miss Archer as the only lady,” said Mrs. Herbert. “Well, she is beautiful.”
“He thinks so.”
“And so do I,” she replied. “Launa alone, how odd!”
“Why? I am very liberal; I cannot see why Launa and your husband should not have a party as you and I are doing.”
“We are old friends.”
“Yes. Are we anything else? We are old friends.”
“And they are new ones.”