All this was much too sober to her way of thinking, and she urged forward her own ideas, which seemed to her more romantic.
“Yes, all right, money, of course,” she resumed, avoiding his argument with true feminine weakness; “but without sufficient strength to force through one’s own will, one would soon be carried away by all the old habits. You see, that is why”—he laughed at her charming want of logic—“that is why I should so much like to do something—foolish—something terribly foolish. I feel myself strong enough to go my own way in spite of the world. I sometimes feel very desperate indeed.”
He enjoyed the fire and animation that beamed from her glistening eyes, and her whole elegant little figure, as she sat there in her giddy coquettishness, gave him the impression of a butterfly just about to flutter away.
“But, Eline!” he cried laughing. “What is it you are taking into your head now? What is it you would like to do then, what sort of follies? Come, just confess, you naughty child.”
She laughed too.
“Oh, say elope!”
“With me?”
“Why not? But I think you would soon leave me to my fate. I should be rather too expensive a luxury to you, and you would send me back with many thanks. Merci bien then, if your question was intended for an invitation; I would rather wait for a wealthy milord.”
“No love in a cottage then?”
“Oh, Vincent, how stale! Jamais! I should die of ennui. I had rather be an actress, and run away with an actor.”