That Mr.
Hanbury-Green should suffer, or that John Derringham should suffer,
mattered to her not one jot. She was really and truly under the
impression that only her personal comfort, pleasure and feelings were of
any importance in the world. Her brain always guarded these things, and,
when they were not in any jeopardy or fear of being inconvenienced, then
she was capable of numbers of kind and generous actions. And, if she had
ever been reproached about her colossal selfishness, she would have
looked up astonished, and replied:
"Well, who is nearer to oneself than oneself?"
Common sense like this is not to be controverted.
It would only be when she was growing old that she would feel the
loneliness of knowing that, apart from the passion which she had
inspired because of her sex and her beauty, not a single human being had
ever loved her. For the present she was Venus Victrix, a glorious
creature, the desired of men--and that was enough.
Mr. Hanbury-Green was a forceful person, unhampered by any of the
instincts of a gentleman, and therefore armed with a number of weapons
for winning his battles.
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