"I don't believe it!"
"Of course you don't: at your age one doesn't reason one's materialism. And besides you're mortally hurt that Nick has found out sooner than you, and hasn't disguised his discovery under any hypocritical phrases."
"But surely there are people--"
"Yes--saints and geniuses and heroes: all the fanatics! To which of their categories do you suppose we soft people belong? And the heroes and the geniuses--haven't they their enormous frailties and their giant appetites? And how should we escape being the victims of our little ones?"
She sat for a while without speaking. "But, Streff, how can you say such things, when I know you care: care for me, for instance!"
"Care?" He put his hand on hers. "But, my dear, it's just the fugitiveness of mortal caring that makes it so exquisite! It's because we know we can't hold fast to it, or to each other, or to anything...."
"Yes... yes... but hush, please! Oh, don't say it!" She stood up, the tears in her throat, and he rose also.
"Come along, then; where do we lunch?" he said with a smile, slipping his hand through her arm.
"Oh, I don't know. Nowhere. I think I'm going back to Versailles."
"Because I've disgusted you so deeply? Just my luck--when I came over to ask you to marry me!"
She laughed, but he had become suddenly grave. "Upon my soul, I did."
"Dear Streff! As if--now--"
"Oh, not now--I know. I'm aware that even with your accelerated divorce methods--"
"It's not that. I told you it was no use, Streff--I told you long ago, in Venice."
He shrugged ironically. "It's not Streff who's asking you now. Streff was not a marrying man: he was only trifling with you. The present offer comes from an elderly peer of independent means. Think it over, my dear: as many days out as you like, and five footmen kept. There's not the least hurry, of course; but I rather think Nick himself would advise it."
She flushed to the temples, remembering that Nick had; and the remembrance made Strefford's sneering philosophy seem less unbearable. Why should she not lunch with him, after all? In the first days of his mourning he had come to Paris expressly to see her, and to offer her one of the oldest names and one of the greatest fortunes in England. She thought of Ursula Gillow, Ellie Vanderlyn, Violet Melrose, of their condescending kindnesses, their last year's dresses, their Christmas cheques, and all the careless bounties that were so easy to bestow and so hard to accept. "I should rather enjoy paying them back," something in her maliciously murmured.