He did not seem to care particularly for women; he never hovered about
them, offering little favors and courtesies; rather, he let them come
to him. Nor did he care for dancing. But he was always ready to make
up a table at bridge; and a shrewd capable player he was, too.
The music in the ballroom stopped.
"Will you be so good, Miss Killigrew, as to tell me why you Americans
call a palace like this--a cottage?" Lord Monckton's voice was
pleasing, with only a slight accent.
"I'm sure I do not know. If it were mine, I'd call it a villa."
"Quite properly."
"Do you like Americans?"
"I have no preference for any people. I prefer individuals. I had
much rather talk to an enlightened Chinaman than to an unenlightened
white man."
"I am afraid you are what they call blase."
"Perhaps I am not quite at ease yet. I was buffeted about a deal in
the old days."
Lord Monckton dropped back into the wicker chair, in the deep shadow.
Kitty did not move. She wondered what Thomas was doing. (Thomas was
rubbing ointment on his raw knuckles.
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