were you condemned to the serge and the dimity you spoke of to Madame Mila an hour ago."
He had sunk on a stool at her feet as he spoke, and caressed the silver fox and the gold girdle lightly; his hand touched hers in passing, and her face grew warm. She put a feather screen between her and the fire.
"That is the old argument of content in the cottage &c," she said, with a slight laugh. "I do not believe in it in the least. If it be 'best repenting in a coach and six' it must be best to be bored in an arm-chair———"
"Perhaps! It is not I, certainly, who should praise poverty!" he said, with some bitterness, and more sadness; "and, indeed, poverty or riches has little to do with the question of happiness; happiness can come but from one thing———."
"A good conscience? How terribly moral you are."
"No:—from our emotions, from our passions, from our sympathies; in fine, from Love."
His hand still played with the gold gypsire of the girdle as he sat at her feet; his eyes were
