But the task he had imposed seemed to her, in these hours of faintness, no less than terrible.
He entered, gay as usual, ready with tender words, pet names and diminutives, the "little language" of one who was still a lover.

Seeing how things were with her, he sat down to look over an English newspaper.

Presently his attention strayed, he fell into reverie.
"Well," he exclaimed at length, rousing himself, "they have the news by now." She gave no answer.
"I can imagine how Mary will talk.

'Oh, nothing that Denzil does can surprise me! Whoever expected him to marry in the ordinary way ?' And then they'll laugh, and shrug their shoulders, and hope I mayn't have played the fool--good, charitable folks!" Still she said nothing.
"Rather out of sorts to-day, Lily ?" "I wish we were going to stay here--never to go back to England." "Live the rest of our lives in a Paris hotel!" "No, no--in some quiet place--a home of our own." "That wouldn't suit me, by any means.

Paris is all very well for a holiday, but I couldn't make a home here.