"It is his own generosity that I am afraid of—his self-sacrificing impulses; I am always in terror of his marrying someone out of pure good-nature, just to oblige her, just because she looked as if she wished it."
"Stevenson thinks that it does not much matter whom we marry, whether 'noisy scullions,' or 'acidulous vestals.'"
"I do not care what Stevenson thinks: ever since Willy was in Eton jackets, I have had a nightmare of his bringing me home as daughter-in-law some poor little governess with her nose through her veil, and her fingers through her gloves!"
Burgoyne smiles involuntarily as a vision of Elizabeth's daintily-clad hands flashes before his mental eye.
"I think you overrate his magnanimity; I never saw him at all tender to anyone whose gloves were not beyond suspicion."
Mrs. Byng laughs constrainedly.
"Well, if she has not holes in her gloves, she may have holes in her reputation, which is worse."
Jim draws in his breath hard. The tug of war is coming, as the preceding leading remark, lugged in by the head and shoulders, sufficiently evidences. At all events he will do nothing to make its approach easier or quicker. He awaits it in silence.
"These Le Marchants—as they are friends of yours—I suppose that I ought not to say anything against them?"
"I am sure that you are too well-bred to do anything of the kind," replies he precipitately, with a determined effort to stop her mouth with a compliment, which she is equally determined not to deserve.