She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. White, my landlady, believes his story. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. Jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view. The arrival of la tante Prudence late next day had changed all this, it is true. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. She seemed just as stiff and shy as a girl ought to be, Lady Palsworthy thought, neither garrulous nor unready, and free from nearly all the heavy aggressiveness, the overgrown, overblown quality, the egotism and want of consideration of the typical modern girl.
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