Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. In some incomprehensible way that back view made her feel sorry for Alice. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. “Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. All through the night an entirely impossible and monumental Capes confronted her, and she argued with him about men and women.
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