She spoke with a remnant of her old spirit, and Armour smiled encouragingly at her. “Take my arm, you foolish child. You have not broken down. Now let us set out again, and have no further interruptions. See, there are some people coming—friends of ours too, I believe. Try to get some color in your face.”
Vivienne held her head well up till they had passed, then it sank on her breast again. Armour glanced at the little, clenched hand that lay on his arm and said gently and yet a trifle disdainfully:
“Do not imagine that you are suffering.”
“I do not imagine it. I know that I am.”
“Your disturbance is purely a thing of sentiment,” he said. “I do not say that you are not troubled—I dare say you are; but you will get over it. You are young; you do not know the meaning of the word sorrow.”
“What is it then to suffer?” she asked.
“To suffer”—and he drew a long breath and cast a glance about him like one taking his last look on earth and sky—"ah, I will not tell you."
Vivienne shuddered; in the midst of her own preoccupation she realized that there were depths in the unhappy nature of the man beside her that she could not fathom, even if she were allowed to look into them.
“Do you know anything of astronomy?” asked Mr. Armour suddenly.
“No, nothing,” she replied; “we did not have it in any of the schools that you sent me to.”