Of course, Josephine would
scratch me if I ventured upon such a thing as comparison,-so I'll be
content with saying that I think we are both very happy women."
Josephine laughed gaily. The almost peachlike bloom of girlhood had come
back to her cheeks. She wore a rope of pearls, her husband's wedding
gift, which had belonged to an Empress, and her white gown was the _chef
d'oeuvre_ of a great French artiste's most wonderful season. She looked
across the table. How was it, she wondered, with a little glad thrill,
that the eyes for which she sought seemed always waiting for hers.
"We are very lucky women," she said simply.
Phipps bit the end off his cigar a little savagely. He had been casting
longing glances towards the table in the centre of the room, with its
brilliant company.
"So that is the end of my duel with Wingate," he muttered. "I wonder
whether it would be worth while."
"Whether what would be worth while?" his nephew asked.
Phipps made no direct reply. He rose instead to his feet.
"I am going back to my room at the hotel for a moment, Stanley, to fetch
something," he confided. "Order some more of the Napoleon brandy. I shall
perhaps need it when I come back."
The young man nodded, and Peter Phipps started on his way to the door. He
had to pass the table at which Wingate was presiding, and it chanced that
Josephine, looking up, met his eyes.
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