She drew a long breath of relief. “Oh, you weren’t in earnest,” she
said.
“No,” replied I. “But--don’t live here.”
“I shan’t,” said she firmly. “It’s dreadful for the looks. You’ve seen
what so many of these English women look like.”
“Like shriveled, frost-bitten apples,” said I. “They don’t die
because they’re used to it. But it’s death for people accustomed to
civilization. Not even the steady glow of pride in your title and
position can keep you heated up enough to save you.”
“Will you give Hugh a house, if he’ll consent?”
“Yes.... Until to-night or to-morrow.”
And I fled from the romantic old Abbey, but not soon enough to avoid
what was threatening to be the cold of my life.