"My girls are so pretty," she
said, "and it is a picture to see them at their embroidery frames, or
the carpet making, their fingers flying, their eyes always on the
coloured designs, which are the same as their ancestresses used a
century ago, before the industry declined. I love them all, the dear
creatures, and they love me, though I am a Roumia and an unbeliever. I
ought to be happy in their affection, helping them to success. And now I
must run back to my flock, or the lambs will be getting into mischief.
Au revoir--five o'clock. You will find me waiting with Madame de Vaux."
At luncheon, in the bare, cool dining-room of the hotel, Nevill was like
a man in a dream. He sat half smiling, not knowing what he ate, hardly
conscious of the talk and laughter of the French officers at another
table. Just at the last, however, he roused himself. "I can't help being
happy. I see her so seldom. And I keep turning over in my mind what new
arguments in favour of myself I can bring forward when I propose this
afternoon--for of course I shall propose, if you and the bride will
kindly give me the chance. I know she won't have me--but I always do
propose, on the principle that much dropping may wear away a stone."
"Suppose you break the habit just for once," ventured Stephen.
Nevill looked anxious. "Why, do you think the case is hopeless?"
"On the contrary. But--well, I can't help feeling it would do you more
good to show an absorbing interest in Miss Ray's affairs, this time.
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