She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. “Earning a salary!” “You’re like a Princess in Exile!” he repeated, overruling her. Before her was a great Gothic portal. Her thought spoke aloud. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me.
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