"I do wish you wouldn't pose so much!" said Mary. "Really, you're making a complete ass of yourself. You can't look like a femme fatale at nineteen."

"With eye-black, I can," replied Vicky optimistically.

"Well, don't. And if it's for the Prince's benefit, I think he's phoney."

"Oh yes, so do I!" Vicky assented.

"Then why on earth bother to put on this sickening act?"

"It isn't a bother; I like it. I wish I were on the stage."

"You're certainly wasted here. Why has the Prince come here, do you suppose?"

"Well, I think because Mummy's so rich."

"Yes, but he knew she was married."

"But she could divorce Wally, couldn't she? I think it's all frightfully subtle of Alexis, only Ermyntrude's very respectable, so perhaps he'll murder Wally in the end."

"Oh, don't talk rot!" said Mary impatiently.

"Well, I do think he might, quite easily," said Vicky, applying eye-black with a lavish hand. "Oh, darling, don't I look grand and dangerous? I think Russians are sinister, particularly Alexis."

"I don't see anything sinister about Alexis. And you look awful."

"Ugly-awful, or fast-awful? I don't trust his smile. Like velvet, with something at the back of his eyes which makes me shiver a little."

"Don't waste that stuff on me: I'm the worst audience you'll ever have."

"I was rehearsing," said Vicky, quite unabashed. "Do you suppose secret agents have fun?"

"No. Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, except that I've made myself look like Sonia the Spy, and Robert Steel is dropping in after dinner."

"I don't see what that's got to do with it."

"Well, nothing really, except that I told him to, because it'll make a situation, and I think Robert and Alexis and Wally are the loveliest sort of triangle. Bottled passions, and things."