"What?"
"Well, what she thinks or does not think; in a word, how I stand with her."
"No,—oh, no, my dear Alan; I couldn't attempt anything of that sort,—in my own house, too: it would seem so horribly rude. Besides, I am not in the least—not the very least—intimate with her. I think her charming, we are bonnes connaiassances, the children adore her; but I have never said anything intimate to her in my life,—never."
"But you have so much tact."
"The more tact I have, the less likely shall I be to recall to her what she is evidently perfectly determined to ignore. You can do it yourself if you want it done. You are not usually shy."
Gervase gets up impatiently, and walks about in the narrow limits of the boudoir, to the peril of the Sèvres and Saxe.
"But women have a hundred indirect ways of finding out everything: you might discover perfectly well, if you chose, whether—whether she feels anger or any other sentiment; whether—whether, in a word, it would be prudent to recall the past to her."
Lady Usk shakes her head with energy, stirring all its pretty blonde curls, real and false. "Entre l'arbre et l'écorce ne mettez pas le doigt. That is sound advice which I have heard given at the Français."
"That is said of not interfering between married people."
"It is generally true of people who wish, or may not wish, to marry. And I suppose, Alan, that when you speak in my house of renewing your—your—relations with the Princess Sabaroff, you do not mean that you have any object less serious than le bon motif?"