“Oh, very long ago,—fully a year and a half.”
“Indeed!” cried he, with a well-feigned astonishment.
“Yes,” said she, resuming. “I was very tired of being flattered and feted, and what people call 'spoiled;' for it is by no means remembered how much amusement is afforded to those who play the part of 'spoilers' in the wilfulness and caprice they excite; and so I thought, 'I 'll show you all how very easy it is to live without you. I 'll let you see that I can exist without your homage.'”
“And you really fancied this?”
“You ask as if you thought the thing incredible.”
“Only difficult,—not impossible.”
“I never intended total isolation, mind. I 'd have had my intimates, say two or three,—certainly not more,—dear friends, to come and go and stay as they pleased.”
“And do you know how you 'd have passed your time, or shall I tell you?”
“Yes. Let me hear your version of it.”
“In talking incessantly of that very world you had quitted, in greedily devouring all its scandals, and canvassing all its sins,—criticising, very possibly, its shortcomings and condemning its frivolities; but still following with a wistful eye all its doings, and secretly longing to be in the thick of them.”