“What a pity,” cried Nancy. “M. D’Escourt said he might visit Nice in a few days.”
“The very reason why we go to San Remo, sweetheart. Now take your place. Here we are. You will admire the olive woods and the flowers before many more hours are over, cara mia.”
CHAPTER IX.
THE ROSE-COLOURED BEDROOM AND THE NEW MAID.
The honeymoon was over; the four weeks all of pure gold had come slowly but surely to an end. Nancy had forgotten much during this time. The look of trouble, of anxiety, had absolutely left her face: it bloomed into greater and greater beauty in the new atmosphere. Rowton, too, appeared to be a different man. A great deal of his harshness and roughness had left him. He could be polished when he chose. In the early days of his life he had only associated with gentlemen; he was of good birth, and his natural breeding quickly re-asserted itself.
“You are just like a tamed lion,” Nance was fond of saying to him. “You are so gentle to me; so courteous and kind to everyone, but I know——”
“What do you know, sweet wife?” he said, clasping her round her slender waist and looking into her deep, beautiful eyes; “you must not get to know me too well, Nancy; be satisfied with the surface of me, and do not penetrate too deep.”
“Ah!” she said smiling, “you will run yourself down; but I know the deepest and the best of you. I leave the shallow part to strangers.”
“You were going to make a remark about the lion,” he said, patting her soft hand; “so you really think I am a roaring lion, my darling?”
“You never roar to me,” she answered; “but that you can roar I am firmly convinced.”
“Capital,” he said with a great laugh; “well, Nancy, I hope it will never be your fate to hear one of my manifestations. Child, we go back to England to-morrow; are you glad or sorry?”