“Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. ‘Certainly, if I was a nun, I know of many good names. ’ ‘This, monsieur le major, is entirely your own affair,’ said the lady, haughty again. Earles was absolutely indifferent. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. They had not to tarry long.
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