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58 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
" It looks like it," I replied. " And you are really not
jealous?
"
"Not at all," she assured me. "I’m in love myself
with the pretty little cat. And you? "
"Oh, I’m all right. I don’t want to be rude, but I
shall never feel in the least in sympathy with your cousin."
And this was true. From the first moment I had taken
a dislike to this young woman, who, like myself, was of
middle-class origin. She saw in me the odious witness, or
rather the dangerous rival, hunting in the preserves which
she had reserved for herself, and from which she hoped
to force her way into society. Her keen grey eyes had at
once recognised in me an acquaintance of whom she could
make no use ; her plebeian instinct scented an adventurer
in me. And up to a certain point she was right, for I had
entered the Baron’s house in the hope of finding a patron
for my unfortunate drama ; unluckily, the relations be-
tween my friends and the stage were non-existent, a mere
fabrication of my friend from Finland, and, with the
exception of a few compliments, my play had never been
mentioned.
It was also undeniable that there was a marked differ-
ence in the Baron’s manner whenever his charmer was
present. He was fickle and easily impressed, and evidently
beginning to regard me with the eyes of the sorceress.
AVe had not long to wait ; the pair appeared at the
garden gate, merrily talking and laughing.
The girl was brimming over with fun and merriment ;
she used bad language, a little too freely perhaps, but
with excellent taste ; she uttered double-entendres with
such an appearance of perfect innocence that it was im-
possible to credit her with the knowledge of the meaning
of her ambiguous words. She smoked and drank without
forgetting for one single moment that she was a woman,
and, what is more, a young woman. There was nothing
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