The smile flickered inscrutably around Mrs. Delamere’s thin lips.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I can forgive the woman. I should think most women with whom he has come in contact have been ready to throw themselves away upon him. He is a splendid looking animal.”
“Do you think women are beasts like men?”
“There’s not much to choose between them,” replied Mrs. Delamere.
The last act began; Mrs. Delamere gave herself up to the stage. Minna leant on the edge of the box and brooded over the two figures side by side, just distinguishable in the chequered dimness of the stalls. When the piece was over, she hurried her companion out of the theatre, and parted from her at the door. A cab quickly took her to the Métropole. She went straight into her bedroom and ordered a small bottle of champagne and some biscuits, which she consumed while Justine aided her to undress.
“Has Mademoiselle well amused herself?” asked Justine.
“Don’t chatter in that irritating way,” said Minna snappishly. So Justine concluded her operations in silence, and retired at the earliest opportunity.
Minna wrapped her dressing-gown around her and lay back in a chair, with the last half glass of champagne beside hen And gradually the sensuousness faded from her face, and her eyes grew haunted by trouble and her lips worked nervously. Thus she remained rigid, save for her lips and swelling bosom, for a long time. At last, in a vehement whisper:
“Yes, I hate him,” she said.