His face changed expression, but he was urged forward by an irresistible force that seemed to rise up from the bottom of his being and blind his eyes.
"You don't love him, it was only a caprice; we'll think no more about it."
She sought the truth in her soul, but it seemed to elude her. She was like a blind person in a vague, unknown space, and not being able to discover the reason why she refused him, she insisted that Ulick was the reason.
"Are you going to marry him?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Don't you wish to? He is your father's friend."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Destiny, I suppose."
The question was too profound for discussion, and they sat silent for a long while. A chance remark turned their talk upon Balzac, and Owen spoke about Le Lys dans la Vallèe, and she asked him if he remembered the day he had first spoken to her about Balzac.
"It was the day you took me to the races, our first week in Paris."