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"I never lived my own life until he died, but I have lived it ever since." "And the first thing you did with your liberty was to come to Europe," said Miss Thangue, with a sympathetic smile. "Of course. My father and uncle had got rid of most of their property long before they died; there isn't an acre left of our share in the southern estate.
As the women entered a large room on the opposite side of the central hall, where coffee was to be served, Flora Thangue laid her hand deprecatingly on Isabel's arm. "I was so sorry not to be able to wait for you," she said.
Immediately after the hour in the smoking-room that followed breakfast, he started in search of her; but although many of the women were scattered throughout the lower rooms, reading, writing, gossiping, he saw nothing of his inamorata. Flora Thangue happened to be standing alone, and he went up to her impulsively. "Do you know if Julia has gone to church?" he asked, without circumlocution.
"She went to her room directly after breakfast. I fancy she is rather cut up over Lord Brathland's death," replied the astute Miss Thangue. "Of course; we all are poor Bratty! He was rather a bounder, but it is natural to recall his virtues. Flora, go and tell her I want her to come for a walk. I can't go to her room myself, and I don't care to send a servant." Miss Thangue reflected.
She felt happy and excited, her fine almost severe face far more girlishly alive than when she had told her story, provocatively dry, to Flora Thangue. She directed an approving glance at the high heels of her slippers, which, with her lofty carriage, produced the effect of non-existing inches.
She smiled graciously as Miss Thangue murmured the introduction and moved away, but did not offer the other half of the sofa, and Isabel fetched a chair. "You are the American cousin, of course," she said, with a slight lisp. "We were all talking about you down at our end of the table, but I could not see you until just now. I long to go to America, your novels interest me so much.
But Miss Thangue had seen too much of the world to judge any one by his inherited shell.
I have a ranch near Rosewater, some property and an old house in San Francisco. All that makes me comfortable, but no more; and there are so many terribly rich American girls!" "There are, indeed!" Miss Thangue sat forward with the frank curiosity of the Englishwoman when inspecting a foreign specimen. But her curiosity was kindly, for she was still a girl at heart, interested in other girls.
She had not the least idea where to find Lady Victoria's boudoir, although a casual reference by Flora Thangue suggested that it was on the bedroom floor. She lost herself in the interminable corridors and finally ran into Elton Gwynne. "Your mother expects me where is her boudoir?" she asked. He was at peace with the world, and answered, good-naturedly: "I'll pilot you.
One of us should spend a year there, at least; and of course it is out of the question for Jack to leave England again." "You would not spend six months out of Curzon Street. You are the most confirmed Londoner I know." "Do you think so?" Miss Thangue replied, impulsively, "I have often wondered if you numbered satiety among your complexities!"
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