Eugenie had but to lift her hand, and he would have followed them to Syria.

On the contrary, she had taken special pains to prevent it.

And General F,--and that clever fellow X,--who was now reorganising Egyptian finance--and several more--they were all under the spell.
But Eugenie had this quixotic liking for the 'intellectuals' of a particular sort, for artists and poets, and people in difficulties generally.

Well, he had it himself, he reflected, frowning, as he strolled after her; but there were limits.

Marriage was a thing apart; in that quarter, at any rate, it was no good supposing you could escape from the rules of the game.
Not that the rules always led you right--witness De Pastourelles and his villainies.