'Really?'
'When I say his health, I mean the health and strength of his love for you. You must vacillate, Edith. Souvent femme varie. You sit on the fence, n'est-ce-pas? Well, offer the fence to him. But, take it away before he sits down. Voilà!'
Edith laughed. 'But then this girl, Miss Clay, she's always there. And I like her.'
'What is her nationality?'
'How funny you should ask that! I think she must be of Spanish descent. She's so quiet, so religious, and has a very dark complexion. And yet wonderful light blue eyes.'
'Quelle histoire! Qu'est-ce-que ça fait?'
'The poor girl is mad about Aylmer. He doesn't seem to know it, but he makes her worse by his indifference,' Edith said.
'Why aren't you jealous of her, ma chère? No, I won't ask you that—the answer is obvious.'
'I mean this, that if I can't ever do what he wishes, I feel she could make him happy; and I could bear it if she did.'
'Spanish?' said Landi, as if to himself. 'Olé! olé! Does she use the castanets, and wear a mantilla instead of a cap?'