e.

"The Rector is embarrassed, his wife appalled. The Doctor's 'lady,' much
as she longs for one's guineas, tries to stop him even from attending
one's dying bed. The Squire, though secretly interested to fervour, is
of course a respectable man. He is a 'stay' to country morality, and his
wife is a pair of stays. The neighbours respond in their dozens to the
_mot d'ordre_, and there one is _plantee_, like a lonely white moon
encircled by a halo of angry fire. Dear acquaintance, I've tried it.
Egypt--Omaha--anything would be better. What are you eating? Have one of
these little cakes. They really are good. I ordered them specially for
you and our small festivity."

She was smiling as she handed him the plate.

"I should think Egypt would be better!" exclaimed Nigel, with a strength
and a vehemence that contrasted almost startlingly with her light,
half-laughing tone. "Why don't you go there? Why don't you try the free
life?"

"Live among the tribes, like Lady Hester Stanhope in the Lebanon? I'm
afraid I could never train myself to wear a turban. Besides, Egypt is
fearfully civilized now. Every one goes there. I should be cut all up
the Nile."

The brutality of her frankness startled and almost pained him. For a
moment, in it he seemed to discern a lack of taste.

"You are right," she said; and suddenly the lightness died away
altogether from her voice. "But how is one not to get blunted? And even
long ago I always hated pretence. Women are generally pretending. And
they are wise. I have never been wise. If I were wise, I should not let
you see my lonely, stupid, undignified situation."

Suddenly she turned so that the light from the window fell full upon
her, and lifted her veil up over the brim of her hat.

"Nor my face, upon which, of course, must be written all sorts of
worries and sorrows. But I couldn't pretend at eighteen, nor can I at
thirty-eight. No wonder so many men--the kind of men you meet at your
club, at the Marlborough, or the Bachelors', or the Travellers'--call me
an 'ass of a woman.' I am an ass of a woman, a little--little--ass."

In saying the very last words all the severity slipped away out of her
voice, and as she smiled again and moved her head, emphasizing
humorously her own reproach to herself, she looked almost a girl.

"The 'little' applies to my mind, of course, not to my body; or perhaps
I ought to say to my soul, instead of to my body."

"No, 'little' would be the wrong adjec