She gave him a curious look.
"You don't believe it? If you had been in the convent, you would have
believed it. I'm mad sometimes--quite mad; with pride, I suppose, and
vanity. The Soeurs said it was that."
"They had to explain it somehow," said Ashe. "But I am quite sure that
if I lived in a convent I should have a furious temper."
"You!" she said, half contemptuously. "You couldn't be ill-tempered
anywhere. That's the one thing I don't like about you--you're too
calm--too--too satisfied. It's--Well! you said a sharp thing to me, so I
don't see why I shouldn't say one to you. You shouldn't look as though
you enjoyed your life so much. It's
bourgeois! It is, indeed." And she
frowned upon him with a little extravagant air that amused him.
By some prescience, she had put on that morning a black dress of thin
material, made with extreme simplicity. No flounces, no fanfaronnade. A
little girlish dress, that made the girlish figure seem even frailer and
lighter than he remembered it the night before in the splendors of her
Paris gown. Her large black hat emphasized the whiteness of her brow,
the brilliance of her most beautiful eyes; and then all the rest was
insubstantial sprite and airy nothing, to be crushed in one hand.
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