Page:Frank Owen - Woman Without Love (1949 reprint).djvu/144

 "If I thought she wanted him," he said, "she could have him."

"Oh, so you actually do like her a little."

"So little that it hardly exists at all."

settled down comfortably to years of peace. For the first time in her life she was completely happy. At last she had a real home where she was loved. Occasionally her heart bothered her when she climbed the stairs. But the pains usually passed when she rested awhile. She had lived a pretty strenuous life.

In the mornings she liked to loll about in her own sitting room, wearing one of her favorite ruffled dressing gowns. She still painted and rouged outrageously. Terese prepared her bath every morning and went downstairs and brought her breakfast up on a tray. Timothy, much to his annoyance, was commissioned to get his mistress all the morning papers. She liked to read what was going on everywhere, though she seldom read more than the headlines unless the matter was of a scandalous nature.

One morning after she had finished a late breakfast, Timothy, nose in air, appeared on the threshold.

"There is a person downstairs to see you," he announced disdainfully, as though for her to have visitors at all was a near crime.

"What sort of a person?" she asked.

"A common sort of person, if I may say so."

"You mean shabby?"

"No, he is well enough dressed, though the cut of his clothes is rather vulgar. If you will pardon me for the liberty of giving an opinion, Madame, he seems to lack breeding."

"Did he tell you his name?"

"Yes. Blackie Gray."

Madame closed her eyes. She felt a sharp pain at her heart. Her little world of happiness was tottering about her. The past