"And you would like the life?"
She laughed softly.
"Why not? It isn't so bad. I was on the stage in New York for
some time under much worse conditions."
He remained silent for a few minutes. They had made their way
into the street now and were waiting for an omnibus.
"What did you tell him?" he asked, abruptly.
She was looking down toward the Embankment, her eyes filled once
more with the things which he could not understand.
"I have told him nothing yet," she murmured.
"You would like to accept?"
She nodded.
"I am not sure," she replied. "If only - I dared!"
CHAPTER VIII
WOMAN'S WILES
At eleven o'clock the next morning, Tavernake presented himself
at the Milan Court and inquired for Mrs. Wenham Gardner. He was
sent at once to her apartments in charge of a page. She was
lying upon a sofa piled up with cushions, wrapped in a wonderful
blue garment which seemed somehow to deepen the color of her
eyes. By her side was a small table on which was some chocolate,
a bowl of roses, and a roll of newspapers. She held out her hand
toward Tavernake, but did not rise. There was something almost
spiritual about her pallor, the delicate outline of her figure,
so imperfectly concealed by the thin silk dressing-gown, the
faint, tired smile with which she welcomed him.
"You will forgive my receiving you like this, Mr. Tavernake?" she
begged. "To-day I have a headache. I have been anxious for your
coming.
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