"
A hard and almost vicious gleam shone for as instant in his eyes.
"You're as cruel as a Spaniard at a bull-fight."
"My boy, I've been gored by the bull."
Pierce was silent for a minute. He thought of Lady Holme's white-rose
complexion and of the cessation of Carey's acquaintance with the Holmes.
No one seemed to know exactly why Carey went to the house in Cadogan
Square no more.
"For God's sake give me another drink, Robin, and make it a stiff one."
Pierce poured out the whisky and thought:
"Could it have been that?"
Carey emptied the tumbler and heaved a long sigh.
"When d'you go back to Rome?"
"Beginning of July."
"You'll be there in the dead season."
"I like Rome then. The heat doesn't hurt me and I love the peace.
Antiquity seems to descend upon the city in August, returning to its own
when America is far away."
Carey stared at him hard.
"A rising diplomatist oughtn't to live in the past," he said bluntly.
"I like ruins."
"Unless they're women."
"If I loved a woman I could love her when she became what is called a
ruin."
"If you were an old man who had crumbled gradually with her."
"As a young man, too. I was discussing--or rather flitting about,
dinner-party fashion--that very subject to-night."
"With whom?"
"Viola."
"The deuce! What line did you take?"
"That one loves--if one loves--the kernel, not the shell."
"And she?"
"You know her--the opposite.
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