Robin Pierce touched the
glass.
"That way?"
"Yes. It would be too sad."
"Let us hope it isn't true, then."
"You know him well. Is it true?"
"Would you care if it was?"
He looked at her earnestly.
"Yes. I like Mr. Carey."
There was a rather unusual sound of sincerity in her voice.
"And what is it that you like in him?"
"Oh, I don't know. He talks shocking nonsense, of course, and is down on
people and things. And he's absurdly unsophisticated at moments, though
he knows the world so well. He's not like you--not a diplomat. But I
believe if he had a chance he might do something great."
Robin felt as if the hidden woman had suddenly begun to speak. Why did
she speak about Rupert Carey?
"Do you like a man to do something great?" he said.
"Oh, yes. All women do."
"But I perpetually hear you laughing at the big people--the Premiers, the
Chancellors, the Archbishops, the Generals of the world."
"Because I've always known them. And really they are so often quite
absurd and tiresome."
"And--Rupert Carey?"
"Oh, he's nothing at all, poor fellow! Still there's something in his
face that makes me think he could do an extraordinary thing if he had the
chance. I saw it there to-night when he didn't bow to me. There's Sir
Donald's son. And what a dreadful-looking woman just behind him."
Leo Ulford was coming down the gallery with a gaunt, aristocratic,
harsh-featured girl.
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