There was almost a savage sternness in her face as she made an effort to suppress her feelings. "Thank you—yes," she said; and then she added, "I never was a believer in much happiness."
And yet he did not go. "We have met now," he said, after another pause.
"Yes, we have met now;" and she even attempted to smile as she answered him.
"And we need not be strangers?" Then there was again a pause; for at first she had no answer ready. "Is it needful that we should be strangers?" he asked.
"I suppose not; no; not if Sir Henry wishes it otherwise."
And then he put out his hand, and wishing her good-night a second time, he went.
For the next hour, Lady Harcourt sat there looking at the smouldering fire. "Quos Deus vult perdere, prius dementat." Not in such language, but with some such thought, did she pass judgment on the wretched folly of her husband.