It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. ‘Because,’ said Lady Bicknacre in the confidential manner of all matrons when passing on a tidbit of scandal, ‘Nicholas married against his father’s wishes and ran away. And for many years, that was the way it was. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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