She rubbed the mist from the carriage window and looked out into the streets.
"Well," she said, "I hope that you realise now how completely you have misunderstood me.

I was perfectly happy in America.

I have been perfectly miserable here.

I suppose that I have grown too old for intrigues and adventures." "Too old, Lucille," the Prince murmured, leaning a little towards her.
"Lucille, you are the most beautiful woman in London.

Many others may have told you so, but there is no one, Lucille, who is so devotedly, so hopelessly your slave as I." She drew her hand away, and sat back in her corner.