“I live from day to day, my dear. I am quite contented.”
“This journey is not a mere caprice. I have been contemplating it for some time,” he said.
Mrs. Rennes' hair was white and her long, equine countenance, sallow. When her feelings were stirred, she showed it only by a cloudy pallor which would steal over her face as a kind of veil—separating her from the rest of mortals.
“One has to get away from England,” continued Rennes: “one has to get away from one's self.”
“And where is your self now?” she asked, not venturing to look at him.
“With that girl,” he answered, suddenly; “with that girl.”
“Do you love her?”
“I don't know. I suppose I do. Oh! I would love her if I could ever be absolutely sincere. But this I do know—I can't see her married to that fellow Reckage. So I must go away.”
“I am afraid she is a coquette—a serious coquette, my dear boy.”
“She is nothing of the kind. She is a true woman. Don't talk about her.”