talks, and I thought of
it then.

"It is wiser to marry the life you like, because after a little the man
doesn't matter." She has evidently done that, but I wish it could be
possible to have both--the man and the life. Well! Well!

One has to sit rather close on those sofas, and as Lord Robert was not the
host, he was put by me. The other two at a right-angle to us.

I felt exquisitely gay--in spite of having an almost high black dress on
and not even any violets.

It was dreadfully difficult not to speak nicely to my neighbor, his
directness and simplicity are so engaging, but I did try hard to
concentrate myself on Christopher and leave him alone, only--I don't know
why--the sense of his being so near me made me feel, I don't quite know
what. However, I hardly spoke to him--Lady Ver shall never say I did not
play fair--though, insensibly, even she herself drew me into a friendly
conversation, and then Lord Robert looked like a happy school-boy.

We had a delightful time.

Mr. Carruthers is a perfect host. He has all the smooth and exquisite
manners of the old diplomats, without their false teeth and things. I wish
I were in love with him, or even I wish something inside me would only let
me feel it was my duty to marry him; but it jumps up at me every time I
want to talk to myself about it, and says, "Absolutely impossible."

When it came to starting for the opera, "Mr. Carruthers will take you in
his brougham, Evangeline," Lady Ver said, "and I will be protected by
Robert. Come along, Robert," as he hesitated.

"Oh, I say, Lady Ver!" he said, "I would love to come with you, but won't
it look rather odd for Miss Evangeline to arrive alone with Christopher?
Consider his character!"

Lady Ver darted a glance of flame at him and got into the electric, while
Christopher, without hesitation, handed me into his brougham. Lord Robert
and I were two puppets, a part I do not like playing.

I was angry altogether. She would not have dared to have left me go like
this if I had been any one who mattered. Mr. Carruthers got in, and tucked
his sable rug round me. I never spoke a word for a long time, and Covent
Garden is not far off, I told myself. I can't say why I had a sense of
_malaise_.

There was a strange look in his face as a great lamp threw a light on it.
"Evangeline," he said, in a voice I have not yet heard, "when are you
going to finish playing with me? I am growing to love you, you know."

"I am very so