142 < 18 > THE HIGH PRICE OF FAME Michelle became a constant in those weeks, basking in the shame-ridden celebrity that had been created around Lucy. Papa has sent me to be religieuse. “My dear sweet Lucia. Montague Hill. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. But at least it gave her more time. I'll speak to McClintock to-night and see if he won't take us for a junket on The Tigress. Whatever those rights may be, whoever I am, my heart is yours. Sebastian sat smirking in amusement. Taber did not leave all his money in the office. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap.
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