“I’m not anxious, myself,” she said; and in a learned tone she cut the whole debate short: “On the whole, what do they reproach your brother with that’s so serious? That he ran away with some one? That’s nothing.”
In spite of her sadness Margaret could not keep back a smile, and Jeanne took this for encouragement to go on.
“You know quite well a woman doesn’t let herself be removed as if she were a spot on your clothes. If any one tried to carry me off I’d scratch and bite and hurt him frightfully.... Unless I was going away with him anyway.”
“Keep still, Jeanne.”
“Oh, you never can tell. When you’re in love you’ll do anything. To be in love—it’s something terrible.”
“Jeanne, what do you know about being in love?”
“Why shouldn’t I know? I’m not a little girl any more.”
Thereupon Miss Sassenay gave a poke to her hat, which was losing its balance on her blonde hair, verified the curls that fell over her forehead, and assumed an air of great detachment, to hide her blushing, as she asked:
“He doesn’t love that bad woman any more, does he?”
“Maurice? I don’t believe so.”