“You are the only person to whom I can turn in perplexity, that is, while we are here in Italy. It so happens that I am sadly in need of advice and information.”
I assured her that I would do all in my power to help her.
“It is with regard to Jacqueline.”
I was careful to show nothing more than a friendly interest. One needed to be wary with the worldly Mrs. Gordon.
“Or, rather, it is with regard to Duke da Sestos.”
“The Duke da Sestos!” I exclaimed, startled. “I can not see, Mrs. Gordon, how a matter touching the Duke da Sestos can affect your niece,” I said after a pause.
“No?” She looked after her niece thoughtfully. “But if I tell you that the duke is in love with her, Mr. Hume?”
“And–and, her feeling toward the duke?”
“I have reason to believe that Jacqueline’s wishes will coincide with mine,” she answered complacently.
Jacqueline’s wishes would coincide with hers! There was little doubt as to what her wishes were. So the worst had really come. I looked out toward the lake, hardly trusting myself to speak. The tender blue of the still waters; the purple mountains; the song of birds; the cries of children; the toll of a church-bell; and Jacqueline, in white, slipping through the green trees–everything had charmed me only a moment ago. But now I saw only Jacqueline–not the laughing Jacqueline, my Jacqueline, who waved her hand back at me smiling, but the Duchess da Sestos, neglected wife, scorning her husband, and hating him, doomed to a slow and wretched death in life, sacrificed by this miserable old worldling.