’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. ’ She tossed her head. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. There is no other way. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. For it was but logical that she would seek a divorce on the ground that she had unknowingly married a fugitive from justice. Meanwhile, she was spirited away from John and bombarded by half-familiar people who attempted to chat with her above the roar of the crowd. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. I do not intend to be married, or to become engaged just at present. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. You don’t have to live forever to understand that.
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