"Only seven. It seems so much longer. I could believe you if you said 'seventeen years!'"
General Villiers looked down on her with a smile. "That would make you a good deal older than you are, my dear," he said. He was proud of her youthful beauty, and never sought to hide the discrepancy in age—which, indeed, would have been a hopeless task. "Now, with me the years slip by in a marvellous way—like lightning. Almost as soon as a year begins it is gone. Seven years! Impossible! But Mr. Trevelyan looks older."
Evelyn's glance went again to Jem with kind solicitude. "He looks—not at all well," she said.
"East-End work takes something out of a man," Jem said, in apology for his appearance.
"You will not keep on at that always. You will have a living some day," said the General.
Jem might have told of several rejected livings.
"Some day, perhaps. One would wish to give one's best years to that work—and then—"
"But not to go on too long," suggested Evelyn. "Not to use up all your powers."
"They could hardly be used up to a better purpose."
"No—only—" she hesitated, dropping her voice, as the General turned to speak with Jean. "Oh, I understand! It must be a splendid life—a life worth living."