sang-froid, sang-frwo', n, coolness, indifference, calmness (Fr., sang - blood, froid, cold)

Prudence's humours had turned quiet sour during this exchange with Lord Lambington..still she thought of dear Aunt Olga and her promise..it was her saving grace when the tiresome expectations of the life her father lusted after for his daughters, that of marrying them off into the stronger titles of this fair land to expand family and personal empire, engulfed her, as it was at this moment. In fact one could almost say devouring her, chomping chomping chomping. Luckily Prudence realised that the horror that was renting her very being was Bunty finishing off yet more bacon. Honestly thought Prudence, her younger sister was a mystery to her. And what was she wearing? If Prudence was to be honest with herself the frock was simply ghastly, quite extraordinarily so. And why was her father looking so dewy at Bunty? Oh my, thought Prudence to herself, was Papa aware of the power such an expression had on an innocent spectator? She concluded obviously not, for he maintained the look unawares of just how unsettling it was. Still Prudence had been well trained by a rather stoic governess in the art of sang-froid. In fact her governess would be proud at the extraordinary self discipline in which Prudence was applying said art to her being at this moment. Little did Prudence realise how much she would be employing it over the course of the days events.......