“Then,” continued Mr. Carlisle in the same abrupt tone, “we had better be on our way to Paris. We might start day after to-morrow, I think.”
Mrs. Grey gave a little scream.
“Severn, you must be out of your mind. I thought you wished never to leave Sienna.”
“I am weary to death of it; but that is not all. I have business matters to arrange, and the preparation of your trousseau will no doubt occupy weeks.”
“But it will be so warm in Paris,” persisted Mrs. Grey.
“Do people whose hearts are filled with love and their minds with coming matrimony think of weather, then? I thought such sublunary interests were left to those whose hearts were still unthawed. However, there are fans and ices enough in Paris to cool you off. I will write to-night to engage rooms.” And then Mr. Carlisle relapsed into silence and abstraction.
Assunta understood well enough the cause of this change in the plans; but she was powerless to act, and could only submit. It, indeed, made little difference to her.
“George,” said Clara to her lover, as they were strolling down the avenue in the moonlight, “can you imagine what is the matter with Severn? I never saw him in such a mood.”
“Disappointed in love, I should judge from appearances,” he replied indifferently.
“Nonsense! He does not know the meaning of the word,” was the not very intelligent reply of the lady.