Julie, meanwhile, knew that she was observed, divined, and pitied. Her pride revolted, but it could wring from her nothing better than a passive resistance. She could prevent Evelyn from expressing her thoughts; she could not so command her own bodily frame that the Duchess should not think. Days of moral and mental struggle, nights of waking, combined with the serious and sustained effort of a new profession, had left their mark. There are, moreover, certain wounds to self-love and self-respect which poison the whole being.
"Julie! you must have a holiday!" cried the Duchess, presently, as they sat down to rest.
Julie replied that she, Madame Bornier, and the child were going to Bruges for a week.
"Oh, but that won't be comfortable enough! I'm sure I could arrange something. Think of all our tiresome houses--eating their heads off!"
Julie firmly refused. She was going to renew old friendships at Bruges; she would be made much of; and the prospect was as pleasant as any one need wish.
"Well, of course, if you have made up your mind. When do you go?"
"In three or four days--just before the Easter rush. And you?"
"Oh, we go to Scotland to fish. We must, of course, be killing something. How long, darling, will you be away?"
"About ten days." Julie pressed the Duchess's little hand in acknowledgment of the caressing word and look.
"By-the-way, didn't Lord Lackington invite you? Ah, there he is!"