"When I do,
I'll pay for them." And she swept from the room, leaving him quivering
with debasement.
CHAPTER XXX
There was fortunately a company assembled for dinner when John
Derringham descended to the restaurant and again joined his
_fiancee_--who never dined alone if she could help it, and reveled in
gay parties for every meal, with plenty of brilliant lights and the
chatter of other groups near at hand. Wherever she went, from Carlsbad
to Cairo, in the best restaurant you could always find her amidst her
many friends, feasting every night. And now the party consisted of some
of her compatriots, a Russian Prince, and an Italian Marchese. She
looked superbly beautiful; anger had lent a sparkle to her eyes and a
flush to her cheeks; no rouge was needed to-night, and she could
scintillate to her heart's content. She flashed words occasionally at
John Derringham, and he knew, and was horribly conscious all the time,
that once he would have found her most brilliant, but that now it was
exactly as when he had looked at the X-ray photograph of his own broken
ankle, where the sole thing which made a reality was the skeleton
substructure.
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