But she felt moved by the sentiment and romance of the situation.
"Isn't it wonderful," she whispered out of her white wrap, "to think of poor Arthur sleeping there, so near to our dear lovely Felicia, and not knowing the immense joy in store for him to-morrow." There was such artificiality in the wax-flower lady that nothing in this speech touched Renouard.

It was but the simple anxiety of his heart that he was voicing when he muttered gloomily-- "No one in the world knows what to-morrow may hold in store." The mature lady had a recoil as though he had said something impolite.
What a harsh thing to say--instead of finding something nice and appropriate.

On board, where she never saw him in evening clothes, Renouard's resemblance to a duke's son was not so apparent to her.
Nothing but his--ah--bohemianism remained.

She rose with a sort of ostentation.
"It's late--and since we are going to sleep on board to-night.

.