She did not start, but her face turned
white, and a mist came before her eyes.
Quickly, however, as though fearful lest he should think he could trouble
her composure, she laid a hand upon herself.
He came near to her and held out his hand. "It has been a long six months
since we met here," he said.
She made no motion to take his hand. "I find days grow shorter as I grow
older," she rejoined steadily, and smoothed her hair with her hand,
making ready to put on her bonnet.
"Ah, do not put it on," he urged quickly, with a gesture. "It becomes you
so--on your arm."
She had regained her self-possession. Pride, the best weapon of a woman,
the best tonic, came to her resource. "Thee loves to please thee at any
cost," she replied. She fastened the grey strings beneath her chin.
"Would it be costly to keep the bonnet on your arm?"
"It is my pleasure to have it on my head, and my pleasure has some value
to myself."
"A moment ago," he rejoined laughing, "it was your pleasure to have it on
your arm."
"Are all to be monotonous except Lord Eglington? Is he to have the only
patent of change?"
"Do I change?" He smiled at her with a sense of inquisition, with an air
that seemed to say, "I have lifted the veil of this woman's heart; I am
the master of the situation.
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