just as I am, with no recommendation beyond my own word.”
“Well, Mr. Probert, if we didn’t like you we wouldn’t smile on you. Recommendations in that case wouldn’t be any good. And since we do like you there ain’t any call for them either. I trust my daughters; if I didn’t I’d have stayed at home. And if I trust them, and they trust you, it’s the same as if
I
trusted you, ain’t it?”
“I guess it is!” said Gaston, smiling.
His companion laid his hand on the door but he paused a moment. “Now are you very sure?”
“I thought I was, but you make me nervous.”
“Because there was a gentleman here last year—I’d have put my money on
him
.”
“A gentleman—last year?”
“Mr. Flack. You met him surely. A very fine man. I thought she favoured him.”
“
Seigneur Dieu
!” Gaston Probert murmured, under his breath.
Mr. Dosson had opened the door, he made his companion pass into the little dining-room, where the table was spread for the noon-day breakfast. “Where are the chickens?” he inquired, disappointedly. Gaston thought at first that he missed a dish from the board, but he recognised the next moment the old man’s usual designationof his daughters. These young ladies presently came in, but Francie looked away from Mr. Probert. The suggestion just dropped by her father had given him a shock (the idea of the girl’s “favouring” the newspaper-man was inconceivable), but the charming way she avoided his eye convinced him that he had nothing to fear from Mr. Flack.
That night (it had been an exciting day), Delia remarked to her sister that of course she could draw back: upon which Francie repeated the expression, interrogatively, not understanding it. “You can send him a note, saying you won’t,” Delia explained.
“Won’t marry him?”
“Gracious, no! Won’t go to see his sister. You can tell him it’s her place to come to see you first.”
“Oh, I don’t care,” said Francie, wearily. Delia looked at her a moment very gravely. “Is that the way you answered him when he asked you?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. He could tell you best.”
“If you were to speak to me that way I should have said, ‘Oh, well, if you don’t want it any more than that!’ ”
“Well, I wish it was you,” said Francie.
“That Mr. Probert was me?”
“No; that you were the one he liked.”
“Francie Dosson, are you thinking of Mr. Flack?” her sister broke out, suddenly.
“No, not much.”
“Well then, what’s the matter?”
“You have ideas and opinions; you know whose place it is and what’s due and what isn’t. You could meet them all.”
“Why, how can you say, when that’s just what I’m trying to find out!”
“It doesn’t matter any way; it will never come off,” said Francie.
“What do you mean by that?”
“He’ll give me up in a few weeks. I shall do something.”
“If you say that again I shall think you do it on purpose!” Delia declared. “Are you thinking of George Flack?” she repeated in a moment.
“Oh, do leave him alone!” Francie replied, in one of her rare impatiences.
“Then why are you so queer?”
“Oh, I’m tired!” said Francie, turning away. And this was the simple truth; she was tired of the consideration her sister saw fit to devote to the question of Mr. Probert’s not having, since their return to Paris, brought his belongings to see them. She was overdone with Delia’s theories on this subject, which varied from day to day, from the assertion that he was keeping his intercourse with his American friends hidden from them because they were uncompromising, in their grandeur, to the doctrine that that grandeur would descend some day upon the Hôtel de l’Univers et de Cheltenham and carry Francie away in a blaze of glory. Sometimes Delia put forth the view that they ought to make certain of Gaston’s omissions the ground of a challenge; at other times she opined that they ought to take no notice of
“Well, Mr. Probert, if we didn’t like you we wouldn’t smile on you. Recommendations in that case wouldn’t be any good. And since we do like you there ain’t any call for them either. I trust my daughters; if I didn’t I’d have stayed at home. And if I trust them, and they trust you, it’s the same as if
I
trusted you, ain’t it?”
“I guess it is!” said Gaston, smiling.
His companion laid his hand on the door but he paused a moment. “Now are you very sure?”
“I thought I was, but you make me nervous.”
“Because there was a gentleman here last year—I’d have put my money on
him
.”
“A gentleman—last year?”
“Mr. Flack. You met him surely. A very fine man. I thought she favoured him.”
“
Seigneur Dieu
!” Gaston Probert murmured, under his breath.
Mr. Dosson had opened the door, he made his companion pass into the little dining-room, where the table was spread for the noon-day breakfast. “Where are the chickens?” he inquired, disappointedly. Gaston thought at first that he missed a dish from the board, but he recognised the next moment the old man’s usual designationof his daughters. These young ladies presently came in, but Francie looked away from Mr. Probert. The suggestion just dropped by her father had given him a shock (the idea of the girl’s “favouring” the newspaper-man was inconceivable), but the charming way she avoided his eye convinced him that he had nothing to fear from Mr. Flack.
That night (it had been an exciting day), Delia remarked to her sister that of course she could draw back: upon which Francie repeated the expression, interrogatively, not understanding it. “You can send him a note, saying you won’t,” Delia explained.
“Won’t marry him?”
“Gracious, no! Won’t go to see his sister. You can tell him it’s her place to come to see you first.”
“Oh, I don’t care,” said Francie, wearily. Delia looked at her a moment very gravely. “Is that the way you answered him when he asked you?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. He could tell you best.”
“If you were to speak to me that way I should have said, ‘Oh, well, if you don’t want it any more than that!’ ”
“Well, I wish it was you,” said Francie.
“That Mr. Probert was me?”
“No; that you were the one he liked.”
“Francie Dosson, are you thinking of Mr. Flack?” her sister broke out, suddenly.
“No, not much.”
“Well then, what’s the matter?”
“You have ideas and opinions; you know whose place it is and what’s due and what isn’t. You could meet them all.”
“Why, how can you say, when that’s just what I’m trying to find out!”
“It doesn’t matter any way; it will never come off,” said Francie.
“What do you mean by that?”
“He’ll give me up in a few weeks. I shall do something.”
“If you say that again I shall think you do it on purpose!” Delia declared. “Are you thinking of George Flack?” she repeated in a moment.
“Oh, do leave him alone!” Francie replied, in one of her rare impatiences.
“Then why are you so queer?”
“Oh, I’m tired!” said Francie, turning away. And this was the simple truth; she was tired of the consideration her sister saw fit to devote to the question of Mr. Probert’s not having, since their return to Paris, brought his belongings to see them. She was overdone with Delia’s theories on this subject, which varied from day to day, from the assertion that he was keeping his intercourse with his American friends hidden from them because they were uncompromising, in their grandeur, to the doctrine that that grandeur would descend some day upon the Hôtel de l’Univers et de Cheltenham and carry Francie away in a blaze of glory. Sometimes Delia put forth the view that they ought to make certain of Gaston’s omissions the ground of a challenge; at other times she opined that they ought to take no notice of
Similar Books
