without any character of its own that it was merely disturbing.
"But she radiated life," continued Mills. "She had plenty of it, and it had a quality. My cousin and Henry Allègre had a lot to say to each other and so I was free to talk to her. At the second visit we were like old friends, which was absurd considering that all the chances were that we would never meet again in this world or in the next. I am not meddling with theology but it seems to me that in the Elysian fields she'll have her place in a very special company."
All this in a sympathetic voice and in his unmoved manner. Blunt produced another disturbing white flash and muttered:
"I should say mixed." Then louder: "As for instance …"
"As for instance Cleopatra," answered Mills quietly. He added after a pause: "Who was not exactly pretty."
"I should have thought rather a La Vallière," Blunt dropped with an indifference of which one did not know what to make. He may have begun to be bored with the subject. But it may have been put on, for the whole personality was not clearly definable. I, however, was not indifferent. A woman is always an interesting subject and I was thoroughly awake to that interest. Mills pondered for a while with a sort of dispassionate benevolence, at last:
"Yes, Doña Rita as far as I know her is so varied in her simplicity that even that is possible," he said. "Yes. A romantic resigned La Vallière … who had a big mouth."
I felt moved to make myself heard.
