She had never
been a vulgar coquette to whom all men were prey. She had always
been more or less discriminating. A man must be either very
attractive or very rich to win her regard. Mr Brown had been very
rich, and Preston Cheney was very attractive.
"He is more than attractive, he is positively FASCINATING," she said
to herself in the solitude of her room after the tete-a-tete over the
Welsh rarebit that evening. "I don't know when I have felt such a
pleasure in a man's presence. Not since--" But the Baroness did not
allow herself to go back so far. "If there is any fruit I DETEST, it
is DATES," she often said laughingly. "Some people delight in a good
memory--I delight in a good forgettory of the past, with its telltale
milestones of birthdays and anniversaries of marriages, deaths and
divorces."
"Mr Cheney said I looked very young to have been twice married.
Twice!" and she laughed aloud before her mirror, revealing the pink
arch of her mouth, and two perfect sets of yellow-white teeth, with
only one blemishing spot of gold visible. "I wonder if he meant it,
though?" she mused. "And the fact that I DO wonder is the sure proof
that I am really interested in this man. As a rule, I never believe
a word men say, though I delight in their flattery all the same.
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