The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. I can see the whole thing was just a set-up for sequels, though. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. And there was that dress of hers! She must be warned that she had been imposed upon. She kissed him on the bridge of his nose.
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