g locked in a cage with a
mysterious, incalculable, and powerful animal. He was fascinated. He
thought: "I wanted to see her alone and I am seeing her alone!"

"Well?" she insisted. "What did dad want you for?"

"Oh! He told me a few things about Miss Wheeler."

"I suppose he told you about Jules, and I suppose he told you I wasn't
to know on any account! Poor old dad! Instead of feeling he's my father,
d'you know what I feel? I feel as if I was his mother. He's _so_ clever;
he's frightfully clever; but he was never meant for this world. He's
just a beautiful child. How in Heaven's name could he think that a girl
like me could be intimate with Irene, and not know about the things that
were in her mind? How could he? Why! I've talked for hours with Irene
about Jules! She'd much sooner talk with me even than with mother. She's
cried in front of me. But I never cried. I always told her she was
making a mistake about Jules. I detested the little worm. But she
couldn't see it. No, she couldn't. She'd have quarrelled with me if I'd
let her quarrel. However, I wouldn't let her. Fancy quarrelling--over a
man! She couldn't help being mad over Jules. I told her she
couldn't--that was why I bore with her. I always told her he was only
playing with her. The one thing that I didn't tell her was that she was
too old for him. She really believed she never got any older. When I say
too old for him, I mean for her sake, not for his. He didn't think she
was too old. He couldn't--with that complexion of hers. I never envied
her anything else except her complexion and her money. But he wouldn't
marry an American. His people wouldn't let him. He's got to marry into a
family like his own, and there're only about ten for him to choose from.
I know she wrote to him on Thursday. She must have had the answer this
morning. Of course she had a revolver. I've got one myself. She went to
bed and did it. She used to say to me that if ever she did it that was
how she would do it.... And father tells me not to add to his
difficulties! Don't you think it's comic?... But she never told me
everything. I knew that. I accused her of it. She admitted it.
However..."

Lois spoke in a low, regular murmur, experimentally aware that privacy
in a Paris flat is relative. There were four doors in the walls of the
drawing-room, and a bedroom on either side. At moments George could
scarcely catch her words. He had never heard her say so much at once,
for she was