"You are very kind, Helene," Mr. Sabin said. "I cannot refuse anything which you offer in so charming a manner. But I shall not keep you more than a few minutes."
"We need not leave for an hour," Helene said, "and I am dressed except for my jewels. Tell me, have you seen Lucille? I am so anxious to know."
"I have seen Lucille this evening," Mr. Sabin answered.
"At Dorset House!"
"Yes."
Helene sat down, smiling.
"Do tell me all about it."
"There is very little to tell," Mr. Sabin answered.
"She is with you--she returns at least!"
Mr. Sabin shook his head.
"No," he answered. "She remains at Dorset House."
Helene was silent. Mr. Sabin smoked pensively a moment or two, and sipped the liqueur which Camperdown"s own servant had just brought him.
"It is very hard, Helene," he said, "to make you altogether understand the situation, for there are certain phases of it which I cannot discuss with you at all. I have made my first effort to regain Lucille, and it has failed. It is not her fault. I need not say that it is not mine. But the struggle has commenced, and in the end I shall win."
"Lucille herself--" Helene began hesitatingly.
"Lucille is, I firmly believe, as anxious to return to me as I am anxious to have her," Mr. Sabin said.
Helene threw up her hands.
"It is bewildering," she exclaimed.
"It must seem so to you," Mr. Sabin admitted.
"I wish that Lucille were anywhere else," Helene said. "The Dorset House set, you know, although they are very smart and very exclusive, have a somewhat peculiar reputation. Lady Carey, although she is such a brilliant woman, says and does the most insolent, the most amazing things, and the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer goes everywhere in Europe by the name of the Royal libertine. They are powerful enough almost to dominate society, and we poor people who abide by the conventions are absolutely nowhere beside them. They think that we are bourgeois because we have virtue, and prehistoric because we are not decadent."
"The Duke--" Mr. Sabin remarked.
"Oh, the Duke is quite different, of course," Helene admitted. "He is a fanatical Tory, very stupid, very blind to anything except his beloved Primrose League. How he came to lend himself to the vagaries of such a set I cannot imagine."
Mr. Sabin smiled.
"C"est la femme toujours!" he remarked. "His Grace is, I fear, henpecked, and the d.u.c.h.ess herself is the sport of cleverer people. And now, my dear niece, I see that the time is going. I came to know if you could get me a card for the ball at Carmarthen House to-night."
Helene laughed softly.
"Very easily, my dear UNCLE. Lady Carmarthen is Wolfendon"s cousin, you know, and a very good friend of mine. I have half a dozen blank cards here. Shall I really see you there?"
"I believe so," Mr. Sabin answered.
"And Lucille?"
"It is possible."
"There is nothing I suppose which I can do in the way of intervention, or anything of that sort?"
Mr. Sabin shook his head.
"Lucille and I are the best of friends," he answered. "Talk to her, if you will. By the bye, is that twelve o"clock? I must hurry. Doubtless we shall meet again at the ball."
But Carmarthen House saw nothing of Mr. Sabin that night.
CHAPTER XX
Mr. Sabin from his seat behind a gigantic palm watched her egress from the supper-room with a little group of friends.
They came to a halt in the broad carpeted way only a few feet from him.
Lady Carey, in a wonderful green gown, her neck and bosom ablaze with jewels, seemed to be making her farewells.
"I must go in and see the De Lausanacs," she exclaimed. "They are in the blue room supping with the Portuguese Amba.s.sador. I shall be at Carmarthen House within half an hour--unless my headache becomes unbearable. Au revoir, all of you. Good-bye, Laura!"
Her friends pa.s.sed on towards the great swing doors. Lady Carey retraced her steps slowly towards the supper-room, and made some languid inquiries of the head waiter as to a missing handkerchief. Then she came again slowly down the broad way and reached Mr. Sabin. He rose to his feet.
"I thank you very much for your note," he said. "You have something, I believe, to say to me."
She stood before him for a moment in silence, as though not unwilling that he should appreciate the soft splendour of her toilette. The jewels which encircled her neck were priceless and dazzling; the soft material of her gown, the most delicate shade of sea green, seemed to foam about her feet, a wonderful triumph of allegoric dressmaking. She saw that he was studying her, and she laughed a little uneasily, looking all the time into his eyes.
"Shockingly overdressed, ain"t I?" she said. "We were going straight to Carmarthen House, you know. Come and sit in this corner for a moment, and order me some coffee. I suppose there isn"t any less public place!"
"I fear not," he answered. "You will perhaps be un.o.bserved behind this palm."
She sank into a low chair, and he seated himself beside her. She sighed contentedly.
"Dear me!" she said. "Do men like being run after like this?"
Mr. Sabin raised his eyebrows.
"I understood," he said, "that you had something to say to me of importance."
She shot a quick look up at him.
"Don"t be horrid," she said in a low tone. "Of course I wanted to see you. I wanted to explain. Give me one of your cigarettes."
He laid his case silently before her. She took one and lit it, watching him furtively all the time. The man brought their coffee. The place was almost empty now, and some of the lights were turned down.
"It is very kind of you," he said slowly, "to honour me by so much consideration, but if you have much to say perhaps it would be better if you permitted me to call upon you to-morrow. I am afraid of depriving you of your ball--and your friends will be getting impatient."