I might not have existed.
She was capricious, as she sometimes is. "No, Robert, I am going home to
bed. I have got a chill, too," she said.
And the footman announcing the electric at that moment, we flew off and
left them, Christopher having fastened my sable collar with an air of
possession which would have irritated me beyond words at another time, but
I felt cold and dead, and utterly numb.
Lady Ver did not speak a word on the way back, and kissed me frigidly as
she went into her room; then she called out:
"I am tired, snake-girl; don't think I am cross. Good-night." And so I
crept up to bed.
To-morrow is Saturday and my visit ends. After my lunch with Lady
Merrenden, I am a wanderer on the face of the earth.
Where shall I wander to? I feel I want to go away by myself, away where I
shall not see a human being who is English. I want to forget what they
look like; I want to shut out of my sight their well-groomed heads; I
want--oh, I do not know what I do want.
Shall I marry Mr. Carruthers? He would eat me up, and then go back to
Paris to the lady he loves. But I should have the life I like--and the
Carruthers's emeralds are beautiful--and I love Branches--and--and----
"Her ladyship would like to see you, miss," said a footman.
So I went up the stairs.
Lady Ver was in a darkened room, soft pink blinds right down beyond the
half-drawn blue silk curtains.
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