She said this in a gasp, as if wild with terror of the days that were coming upon her—the dark days.
"People are always young," I answered, "who love one another as these do."
"Love! what an old-fashioned word. I hate it! It is so—what would you say in English?—so dechirant. I would not cultivate une grande passion for the world."
I smiled at the idea of the bond between Mr. and Mrs. Halifax taking the Frenchified character of "une grande passion."
"But home-love, married love, love among children and at the fire-side;—you believe in that?"
She turned upon me her beautiful eyes; they had a scared look, like a bird's driven right into the fowler's net.
"C'est impossible—impossible!"
The word hissed itself out between her shut teeth—"impossible." Then she walked quickly on, and was her lively self once more.
When the evening closed, and the younger children were gone to bed, she became rather restless about the non-appearance of her coach. At last a lacquey arrived on foot. She angrily inquired why a carriage had not been sent for her?
"Master didn't give orders, my lady," answered the man, somewhat rudely.