‘A lover I mean—that’s what we call ’em down here.’
‘It is difficult to explain,’ said Ethelberta evasively. ‘I knew one many years ago, and I have seen him again, and—that is all.’
‘According to my idea you have one, but according to your own you have not; he does not love you, but you love him—is that how it is?’
‘I have not quite considered how it is.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘I have never seen a man I hate less.’
‘A great deal lies covered up there, I expect!’
‘He was in that carriage which drove over the hill at the moment we met here.’
‘Ah-ah—some great lord or another who has his day by candlelight, and so on. I guess the style. Somebody who no more knows how much bread is a loaf than I do the price of diamonds and pearls.’
‘I am afraid he’s only a commoner as yet, and not a very great one either. But surely you guess, Picotee? But I’ll set you an example of frankness by telling his name. My friend, Mr. Julian, to whom you posted the book. Such changes as he has seen!—from affluence to poverty. He and his sister have been playing dances all night at Wyndway—What is the matter?’