But she forbore from asking how it was that the Countess of Ormont had come to the place.
At a symptom of her intention to indulge in disgust; Aminta brought up Mr.Morsfield by name; whereupon Mrs.Pagnell showed she had reflected on her conduct in relation to the gentleman, and with the fear of the earl if she were questioned.
Home-made bread and butter, fresh eggs and sparkling fat of bacon invited her to satisfy her hunger.

Aminta let her sniff at the teapot unpunished; the tea had a rustic aroma of ground-ivy, reminding Weyburn of his mother's curiosity to know the object of an old man's plucking of hedgeside leaves in the environs of Bruges one day, and the simple reply to her French, 'Tea for the English.' A hint of an anecdote interested and enriched the stores of Mrs.Pagnell, so she capped it and partook of the infusion ruefully.
'But the bread is really good,' she said, 'and we are unlikely to be seen leaving the place by any person of importance.' 'Unless Mr.Morsfield should be advised to return this way,' said Aminta.
Her aunt proposed for a second cup.

She was a manageable woman; the same scourge had its instant wholesome effect on her when she snubbed the secretary.
So she complimented his trencherman's knife, of which the remarkably fine edge was proof enough that he had come heart-whole out of the trial of an hour or so's intimate companionship with a beautiful woman, who had never been loved, never could be loved by man, as poor Mr.Morsfield loved her! He had sworn to having fasted three whole days and nights after his first sight of Aminta.

Once, he said, her eyes pierced him so that he dreamed of a dagger in his bosom, and woke himself plucking at it.

That was love, as a born gentleman connected with a baronetcy and richer than many lords took the dreadful passion.