I want to go home to
Nursey."
Brigit moved away, her upper lip raised disdainfully. How odious they
all were!
And how detestable the whole house with its health of art-treasures,
selected by an artist friend of Newlyn's.
"_Nouveau-riche?_" asked Joyselle, joining her.
"No. That is, they are well-born, but they are _nouveau_ as regards
money. Her father made a lucky speculation in electric-lighting, I think
it was, after she was married. They haven't got used to their money yet.
So," she added, as they stepped out on to one of the many balconies with
which the house was ornamented, "you don't object to sitting at my
table?"
"_Brigitte!_"
His was of the type of face that is ennobled by any strong passion, and
he looked very splendid as he towered above her, white and shaken.
"You will not leave me?" she asked, again possessed by the fear that had
tormented her from the moment when he had dropped his violin the evening
of the golden frock.
"Brigitte," he returned, leaning on the rail and presenting a
non-committal back to anyone who might chance to join them, "let us not
talk of that yet. I love you, and you are mine, and I am yours, whatever
happens.
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