"Then," said John Turner, smoking placidly, "let us agree to differ on that point."
But Lucille had no such intention.
"Does Mr. Howard ask you--you and mother, and sometimes Alphonse--to fight his battles for him and to sing his praises to me?"
Turner did not answer at once.
"Well?" she inquired, impatiently.
"I was just thinking how long it is since d.i.c.k Howard mentioned your name to me--about three months, I believe."
Lucille walked on with her head erect.
"What have you against him?" asked Turner, after a short silence.
"It was from your house that Mr. Howard came to us. He came to my father a.s.suring him that he was poor, which he told me afterwards was only a subterfuge and false pretence. I then learnt from Mr. Gayerson that this was not the truth. I suppose Mr. Howard thought that a woman"s affection is to be bought by gold."
"All that can be explained, Mademoiselle."
"Then explain it, Monsieur."
"Let Howard do it," said Turner, pausing to knock the ash from his cigar.
"I do not care for Mr. Howard"s explanations," said Lucille, coldly.
"One never knows what to believe. Is he rich or poor?"
[Ill.u.s.tration: "I WAS JUST THINKING HOW LONG IT IS SINCE d.i.c.k HOWARD MENTIONED YOUR NAME TO ME--ABOUT THREE MONTHS, I BELIEVE." LUCILLE WALKED ON WITH HER HEAD ERECT.]
"He is which he likes."
Lucille gave a scornful laugh.
"He could be rich to-morrow if he would do as I advise him," grunted Turner.
"What is that, Monsieur?"
"Marry money and a woman he does not love."
They walked on for some moments in silence, and came to the turf entrenchment raised against the wind, as against an a.s.saulting army.
They pa.s.sed through a gangway, cut in the embankment, to one of the seats built against the outer side of it. Below them lay the clean sands, stretching away on either side in unbroken smoothness--the sands of Corton.
"And why will he not take your advice?" asked Lucille.
"Because he is a pig-headed fool--as his father was before him. It is all his father"s fault, for placing him in such an impossible position."
"I do not understand," said Lucille.
John Turner crossed his legs with a grunt of obesity.
"It is nevertheless simple, Mademoiselle," he said; "father and son quarrelled because old Howard, who was as obstinate as his son, made up his mind that d.i.c.k should marry Isabella Gayerson. Plenty of money, adjoining estates, the old story of misery with many servants. d.i.c.k, being his father"s son, at once determined that he would do no such thing, and there was a row royal. d.i.c.k went off to Paris, in debt and heedless of the old man"s threat to cut him off with a shilling. He had never cared for Isabella, and was not going to sell his liberty for the sake of a ring fence. His own words, Mademoiselle. At Paris sundry things happened to him, of which you probably know more than I."
He glanced up at Lucille, who was picking blades of gra.s.s from the embankment against which he leant. Her eyelids flickered, but she made no reply.
"Then," went on John Turner, "his father died suddenly, and it transpired that the hot-headed old fool had made one of those wills which hot-headed old fools make for the special delectation of novelists and lawyers. He had left d.i.c.k penniless, unless he consented to marry Isabella. When d.i.c.k told your father he was poor, he was well within the limits of the truth, although he did it, as I understand, to gain his own ends. When he told you a different story, he merely a.s.sumed that this quarrel, like others, would end in a reconciliation.
He felt remorseful that he had practised a mild deception on your father, and wished to clear his conscience. Death intervened at this moment, and placed our young friend in the uncomfortable position of having told untruths all round. You probably know better than I do, Mademoiselle, why he got himself into this hobble."
But Lucille would make no such admission.
"But you ignore Isabella," she cried, impatiently, "you and Mr.
Howard."
"She will not allow us to do that, my dear young lady."
"Is she to wait with folded hands until Mr. Howard decides whether he is inclined to marry her or not?"
"There is no waiting in the question," said John Turner. "d.i.c.k made up his mind long ago, in the lifetime of his father, and Isabella must be aware of his decision. Besides, Mademoiselle, you can judge for yourself. Is there any love lost between them, think you?"
"No."
"Is there any reason why they should be miserable if they do not want to be?"
"Isabella could not be more miserable than she is now, though she hides it well."
"Ah," said John Turner, thoughtfully. "Is that so? I wonder why."
Lucille shrugged her shoulders. She either could not or would not answer.
"Too much money," suggested Turner.
"When women have plenty of money they usually want something that cannot be bought."
Lucille frowned.
"And now you are angry, Mademoiselle," said John Turner, placidly, "and I am not afraid. I will make you still more angry."
He rose heavily, and stood, cigar in hand, looking out to sea--his round face puckered with thought.
"Mademoiselle Lucille," he said, slowly, "I have known some men and quite a number of women who have sacrificed their happiness to their pride. I have known them late in life, when the result had to be lived through. They were not good company. If pride or love must go overboard, Mademoiselle, throw pride."
Chapter XXIV
An Explanation
"La discretion defend de questionner, la delicatesse defend meme de deviner."