I sha'n't
mind which." She nestled into the couch and picked up the
crystal ball.
"What is the toy for?" Chilcote looked at her from the
mantel-piece, against which he was resting. He had never defined
the precise attraction that Lillian Astrupp held for him. Her
shallowness soothed him; her inconsequent egotism helped him
to forget himself. She never asked him how he was, she never
expected impossibilities. She let him come and go and act as
he pleased, never demanding reasons. Like the kitten, she was
charming and graceful and easily amused; it was possible that,
also like the kitten, she could scratch and be spiteful on
occasion, but that did not weigh with him. He sometimes
expressed a vague envy of the late Lord Astrupp; but, even had
circumstances permitted, it is doubtful whether he would have
chosen to be his successor. Lillian as a friend was
delightful, but Lillian as a wife would have been a different
consideration.
"What is the toy for?" he asked again.
She looked up slowly.
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