The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. Another glass, Jack. “You seem to have come from Miss Pellissier’s rooms. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. Ramage, and might describe the affair to him, she cried “Oh!” with renewed vexation, and repeated some steps of her dance in a new and more ecstatic measure. Wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever,—as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter's daughter. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over.
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