Lady Holme was not in.
As Robin walked away from Cadogan Square he was not sure whether he was
glad or sorry that he had not been able to see her.
After his cup of early morning tea Lord Holme had seemed to be "dear old
Fritz" again, and Lady Holme felt satisfied with herself despite the
wagging tongues of London. She knew she had done an incautious thing. She
knew, too, that Carey had failed her. Her impulse had been to use him as
a weapon. He had proved a broken reed. And this failure on his part was
likely to correct for ever her incautious tendencies. That was what she
told herself, with some contempt for men. She did not tell herself that
the use to which she had intended to put Carey was an unworthy one. Women
as beautiful, and as successful in their beauty, as she was seldom tell
themselves these medicinal truths.
She went about as usual, and on several occasions took Lord Holme with
her. And though she saw a light of curiosity in many eyes, and saw lips
almost forced open by the silent questions lurking within many minds, it
was as she had said it would be. The immediate future had been in Fritz's
hands, and he had made it safe enough.
He had made it safe. Even the Duchess of Arkell was quite charming, and
laid the whole burden of blame--where it always ought to be laid, of
course--upon the man's shoulders. Rupert Carey was quite done for
socially. Everyone said so. Even Upper Bohemia thought blatant
intemperance--in a Duke's house--an unnecessary defiance flung at the
Blue Ribbon Army.
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