Follow a Stranger

but he prefers brunettes. I would not want you to

misunderstand him. He is a flirt, you understand. He likes

to conquer. You say in England—he collects scalps!”

Kate was aching with bitter misery, but she managed to

hold up her head in cool scorn. “Why are you telling me all

this?”

“To save you from being hurt. I know how serious you

English girls cart be—you might think he meant his little

attentions. When I marry Marc all this will stop, of course,

but until I am ready to give up my career I do not feel I can

interfere with his pleasures. After all, he is a man! So

please enjoy yourself with him as you wish, but remember—

be prepared for dismissal when he is tired of you.”

Kate’s face was burning with humiliation now. She

laughed, fiercely. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Filbert. You

are too kind!”

“Ah, you are cross,” said Marie-Louise sweetly. “I did not

mean to hurt your feelings, or make you feel ashamed.

Believe me!”

&nbsp

; Kate walked away, with the mocking laughter ringing in

her ears. She went to her room and sat on the bed, clutching

her head in her hands. Humiliation, pain, shame drove her

wild. She bit her inner lip until it bled, then threw herself

down on to the bed and gave herself up to a silent sobbing,

her head buried in the pillow.

Echoes kept reaching her inner ears. So many pretty

little girls, that woman had said. And Marc is a flirt, you

understand, he collects scalps. Well, she had suspected as

much from the beginning. It was only confirmation of what