"There is no spirit in it; no, I had rather sell peanuts at a Broadway corner, roast chestnuts on a Parisian boulevard, or flowers in Regent Street, than wade through one stanza of his sleepy poems."
Trevalyon laughed, saying:
"How full of active life and vim you are; now, I, at times, could write of dreamy idleness con amore. Do you never weary of our incessant hunt after some new sensation?"
"Never! 'tis the very main-spring of my existence, 'tis what I live for."
"How will you manage to kill time at 'Haughton' Hall out of the season?"
"You will be there," and the black eyes meet his unflinchingly. "And if not I am a great wanderer."
"Some distraction shall dull my senses till you come."
"But, you poor little fire-eater, supposing your liking for me to be real," and no ear but hers heard his whispered words "with my knowledge of Haughton's noble nature, I should curse myself did I cause him one jealous pang."
She pressed close to him as she breathed tenderly—
"Trust me my idol he shall never dream of my idolatry."