“Care?” He put his hand on hers. “But, my dear, it’s just the fugitiveness of mortal caring that makes it so exquisite! It’s because we know we can’t hold fast to it, or to each other, or to anything....”
“Yes... yes... but hush, please! Oh, don’t say it!” She stood up, the tears in her throat, and he rose also.
“Come along, then; where do we lunch?” he said with a smile, slipping his hand through her arm.
“Oh, I don’t know. Nowhere. I think I’m going back to Versailles.”
“Because I’ve disgusted you so deeply? Just my luck—when I came over to ask you to marry me!”
She laughed, but he had become suddenly grave. “Upon my soul, I did.”
“Dear Streff! As if—now—”
“Oh, not now—I know. I’m aware that even with your accelerated divorce methods—”
“It’s not that. I told you it was no use, Streff—I told you long ago, in Venice.”
He shrugged ironically. “It’s not Streff who’s asking you now. Streff was not a marrying man: he was only trifling with you. The present offer comes from an elderly peer of independent means. Think it over, my dear: as many days out as you like, and five footmen kept. There’s not the least hurry, of course; but I rather think Nick himself would advise it.”