CHAPTER XXIII
"After all," said the Prince, looking up from the wine list, "why cannotI be satisfied with you? And why cannot you be satisfied with me? Itwould save so much trouble."
Lady Carey, who was slowly unwinding the white veil from her picturehat, shrugged her shoulders.
"My dear man," she said, "you could not seriously expect me to fall inlove with you."
The Prince sipped his wine--a cabinet hock of rare vintage--and found itgood. He leaned over towards his companion.
"Why not?" he asked. "I wish that you would try--in earnest, I mean.You are capable of great things, I believe--perhaps of the great passionitself."
"Perhaps," she murmured derisively.
"And yet," he continued, "there has always been in our love-making atouch of amateurishness. It is an awkward word, but I do not know howbetter to explain myself."
"I understand you perfectly," she answered. "I can also, I think,explain it. It is because I never cared a rap about you."
The Prince did not appear altogether pleased. He curled his fairmoustache, and looked deprecatingly at his companion. She had so muchthe air of a woman who has spoken the truth.
"My dear Muriel!" he protested.
She looked at him insolently.
"My good man," she said, "whatever you do don't try and be sentimental.You know quite well that I have never in my life pretended to care a rapabout you--except to pass the time. You are altogether too obvious. Veryyoung girls and very old women would rave about you. You simply don'tappeal to me. Perhaps I know you too well. What does it matter!"
He sighed and examined a sauce critically. They were lunching atPrince's alone, at a small table near the wall.
"Your taste," he remarked a little spitefully, "would be considered atrifle strange. Souspennier carries his years well, but he must be anold man."
She sipped her wine thoughtfully.
"Old or young," she said, "he is a man, and all my life I have lovedmen,--strong men. To have him here opposite to me at this moment, mine,belonging to me, the slave of my will, I would give--well, I wouldgive--a year of my life--my new tiara--anything!"
"What a pity," he murmured, "that we cannot make an exchange, you and I,Lucille and he!"
"Ah, Lucille!" she murmured. "Well, she is beautiful. That goes formuch. And she has the grand air. But, heavens, how stupid!"
"Stupid!" he repeated doubtfully.
She drummed nervously upon the tablecloth with her fingers.
"Oh, not stupid in the ordinary way, of course, but yet a fool. I shouldlike to see man or devil try and separate us if I belonged to him--untilI was tired of him. That would come, of course. It comes always. It isthe hideous part of life."
"You look always," he said, "a little too far forward. It is a mistake.After all, it is the present only which concerns us."
"Admirable philosophy," she laughed scornfully, "but when one isbored to death in the present one must look forward or backward forconsolation."
He continued his lunch in silence for a while.
"I am rebuked!" he said.
There came a pause in the courses. He looked at her critically. She wasvery handsomely dressed in a walking costume of dove-coloured grey. Theostrich feathers which drooped from her large hat were almost priceless.She had the undeniable air of being a person of breeding. But shewas paler even than usual, her hair, notwithstanding its carefularrangement, gave signs of being a little thin in front. There werewrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She knew these things, but she borehis inspection with indifference.
"I wonder," he said reflectively, "what we men see in you. You haveplenty of admirers. They say that Grefton got himself shot out at thefront because you treated him badly. Yet--you are not much to look at,are you?"
She laughed at him. Hers was never a pleasant laugh, but this time itwas at least natural.
"How discriminating," she declared. "I am an ugly woman, and men oftaste usually prefer ugly women. Then I am always well dressed. I knowhow to wear my clothes. And I have a shocking reputation. A reallywicked woman, I once heard pious old Lady Surbiton call me! Dear oldthing! It did me no end of good. Then I have the very great advantageof never caring for any one more than a few days together. Men find thatannoying."
"You have violent fancies," he remarked, "and strange ones."
"Perhaps," she admitted. "They concern no one except myself."
"This Souspennier craze, for instance!"
She nodded.
"Well, you can't say that I'm not honest. It is positively my onlyvirtue. I adore the truth. I loathe a lie. That is one reason, Idaresay, why I can only barely tolerate you. You are a shocking--a grossliar."
"Muriel!"
"Oh, don't look at me like that," she exclaimed irritably. "You musthear the truth sometimes. And now, please remember that I came to lunchwith you to hear about your visit this morning."
The Prince gnawed his moustache, and the light in his eyes was nota pleasant thing to see. This woman with her reckless life, her oddfascination, her brusque hatred of affectations, was a constant tormentto him. If only he could once get her thoroughly into his power.
"My visit," he said, "was wholly successful. It could not well beotherwise. Lucille has returned to Dorset House. Souspennier isconfounded altogether by a little revelation which I ventured to make.He spoke of an appeal. I let him know with whom he would have to deal.I left him nerveless and crushed. He can do nothing save by open revolt.And if he tries that--well, there will be no more of this wonderful Mr.Sabin."
"Altogether a triumph to you," she remarked scornfully. "Oh, I know thesort of thing. But, after all, my dear Ferdinand, what of last night.I hate the woman, but she played the game, and played it well. We werefooled, both of us. And to think that I--"
She broke off with a short laugh. The Prince looked at her curiously.
"Perhaps," he said, "you had some idea of consoling the desolatehusband?"
"Perhaps I had," she answered coolly. "It didn't come off, did it? Orderme some coffee, and give me a cigarette, my friend. I have somethingelse to say to you."
He obeyed her, and she leaned back in the high chair.
"Listen to me," she said. "I have nothing whatever to do with you andLucille. I suppose you will get your revenge on Souspennier through her.It won't be like you if you don't try, and you ought to have the gamepretty well in your own hands. But I won't have Souspennier harmed. Youunderstand?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Souspennier," he said, "must take care. If he oversteps the bounds hemust pay the penalty."
She leaned forward. There was a look in her face which he knew verywell.
"You and I understand one another," she said coolly. "If you want me foran enemy you can have me. Very likely I shall tell you before long thatyou can do what you like with the man. But until I do it will be verydangerous for you if harm comes to him."
"It is no use," he answered doggedly. "If he attacks he must besilenced."
"If he attacks," she answered, "you must give me twenty-four hours clearnotice before you move a hand against him. Afterwards--well, we willdiscuss that."
"You had better," he said, looking at her with an ugly gleam in hiseyes, "persuade him to take you for a little tour on the Continent. Itwould be safer."
"If he would come," she said coolly, "I would go to-morrow. But hewon't--just yet. Never mind. You have heard what I wanted to say. Nowshall we go? I am going to get some sleep this afternoon. Everybodytells me that I look like a ghost."
"Why not come to Grosvenor Square with me?" he leaning a little acrossthe table. "Patoff shall make you some Russian tea, and afterwards youshall sleep as long as you like."
"How idyllic!" she answered, with a faint sarcastic smile. "It goesto my heart to decline so charming an invitation. But, to tell you thetruth, it would bore me excessively."
He muttered something under his breath which startled the waiter athis elbow. Then he followed her out of the ro
om. She paused for a fewmoments in the portico to finish buttoning her gloves.
"Many thanks for my lunch," she said, nodding to him carelessly. "I'msure I've been a delightful companion."
"You have been a very tormenting one," he answered gloomily as hefollowed her out on to the pavement.
"You should try Lucille," she suggested maliciously.
He stood by her side while they waited for her carriage, and lookedat her critically. Her slim, elegant figure had never seemed moreattractive to him. Even the insolence of her tone and manner had an oddsort of fascination. He tried to hold for a moment the fingers whichgrasped her skirt.
"I think," he whispered, "that after you Lucille would be dull!"
She laughed.
"That is because Lucille has morals and a conscience," she said, "andI have neither. But, dear me, how much more comfortably one gets onwithout them. No, thank you, Prince. My coupe is only built for one.Remember."
She flung him a careless nod from the window. The Prince remained on thepavement until after the little brougham had driven away. Then he smiledsoftly to himself as he turned to follow it.
"No!" he said. "I think not! I think that she will not get our goodfriend Souspennier. We shall see!"
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