her shoulder and defying with its luxuriance the yellowness of her
skin, they sat side by side, propped up with pillows, inured to the
sight of each other in undress.

'He has come back!' Sophia said ecstatically. 'Perhaps after all--'

'Oh, nonsense!' Caroline said as usual, 'she's meant for better
things. My dear, she was born for a great affair. She ought to be the
mistress of a king. Yes, something of that kind, with her looks, her
phlegm.'

'But there are no kings in Radstowe,' Sophia said, 'and I don't think
you ought to say such things.'

'It's my way. You ought to know that. And I can't control my tongue
any more than Reginald can control his body.'

'Caroline!'

'And I don't want to. We're all wrapped up in cotton-wool nowadays. I
ought to have lived in another century. I, too, would have adorned a
court, and kept it lively! There's no wit left in the world, and
there's no wickedness of the right kind. We might as well be
Nonconformists at once.'

'Certainly not,' Sophia said firmly. 'Certainly not that.'

'But as you so cleverly remind me, there are no kings in Radstowe.
There's not even,' she added with a mocking smile which made her face
gay in a ghastly way, 'not even a foreign Count who would turn out an