But Eugenia, turning and still holding her candle aloft, only looked about the little sitting-room at her gimcracks and curtains and cushions. “My maid shall pack up,” she repeated. “Bonté divine, what rubbish! I feel like a strolling actress; these are my ‘properties.’”
“Is the play over, Eugenia?” asked Felix.
She gave him a sharp glance. “I have spoken my part.”
“With great applause!” said her brother.
“Oh, applause—applause!” she murmured. And she gathered up two or three of her dispersed draperies. She glanced at the beautiful brocade, and then, “I don’t see how I can have endured it!” she said.
“Endure it a little longer. Come to my wedding.”
“Thank you; that’s your affair. My affairs are elsewhere.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Germany—by the first ship.”
“You have decided not to marry Mr. Acton?”