‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. But the cases were not identical. You can’t! I tell you frankly you may break off your engagement to me—I shall hold myself still engaged to you, yours just the same. " "Would you like to have me read to you?" He did not answer.
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