"And what is that?" And she smiled a
divine smile.
Paul felt ashamed. "Oh! well, it _is_ a rotter, you know--that
_is_--like Uncle Hubert, I mean."
She laughed again. "You do not explain well, but I understand you. And
so you only resemble the Uncle Hubert on the outside--that is good."
Paul felt jealous. Lord Hubert Aldringham's reputation--for some
things--was European. "I hope so," he said with emphasis. "And you
knew him well then, too?"
"I never said so," replied the lady. "I saw him once--twice
perhaps--years ago--at the marriage of a princess. There, it has made
you frown, we will speak no more of the Uncle Hubert!" and she leant
back and laughed.
Paul felt very young. He wanted to show her he was grown up, and he
wanted a number of things which had never even formed themselves in
his imagination before. But she went on talking.
"And your _cotelettes_ were tough, Paul, and you were so cross
that first evening, and hated me! And oh! Paul, you had far too much
wine for a boy like you!"
He reddened to the roots of his fair wavy hair, and then he hung his
head.
"I know I did--it was beastly of me--but I was so--upset--I--"
"Look at me," she said, and she bent forward over him--a gliding
feline movement infinitely sinuous and attractive.
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