but he prefers brunettes. I would not want you to
misunderstand him. He is a flirt, you understand. He likes
to conquer. You say in England—he collects scalps!”
Kate was aching with bitter misery, but she managed to
hold up her head in cool scorn. “Why are you telling me all
this?”
“To save you from being hurt. I know how serious you
English girls cart be—you might think he meant his little
attentions. When I marry Marc all this will stop, of course,
but until I am ready to give up my career I do not feel I can
interfere with his pleasures. After all, he is a man! So
please enjoy yourself with him as you wish, but remember—
be prepared for dismissal when he is tired of you.”
Kate’s face was burning with humiliation now. She
laughed, fiercely. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Filbert. You
are too kind!”
“Ah, you are cross,” said Marie-Louise sweetly. “I did not
mean to hurt your feelings, or make you feel ashamed.
Believe me!”
; Kate walked away, with the mocking laughter ringing in
her ears. She went to her room and sat on the bed, clutching
her head in her hands. Humiliation, pain, shame drove her
wild. She bit her inner lip until it bled, then threw herself
down on to the bed and gave herself up to a silent sobbing,
her head buried in the pillow.
Echoes kept reaching her inner ears. So many pretty
little girls, that woman had said. And Marc is a flirt, you
understand, he collects scalps. Well, she had suspected as
much from the beginning. It was only confirmation of what