“It will not do, Annabel,” said the Duchess, severely. “The Norths are a fine family, but poor, even in the elder branches. This young man can look forward to nothing better than some diplomatic or military appointment, and that in an Indian Presidency.”
“What could be better?” asked Annabel, with an affectation of delight. “An Indian Court is a court. It has the splendour, the ceremony, the very air of royalty.”
“But with your fortune–”
“I assure you, Duchess, any man who marries me will need all my fortune. He will in fact deserve it. You know that I am not amiable, and that I am extravagant and luxurious.”
“But you may avoid such a foolish, unwomanly thing as flirtation, even if you are not amiable. It seems to me the world has forgotten how to be amiable. This morning, the Duke is touchy and disagreeable; and Piers has not come to ask after my health, though it is his usual custom when I remain in my room. He angered the Duke also last night.”
“Did you see him last night?” asked Annabel, with an air of indifference.
“The Duke did. Piers seems to have behaved in an absurd way about a ring he has lost. The Duke says, he turned his room topsy-turvy, and went on as if he had lost his whole estate.”
“Was it the ring with the ducal arms that he always wears?”
“No, indeed! Only a simple band of sapphires, or some other stone. The Duke thinks it must have been the gift of some woman. Were you the donor, Annabel?”
“I! I should think not! I do not give rings away. I prefer to receive them. He wore no sapphire band yesterday when he and I went to the Athelings–” and she looked the rest of the query, over her coffee-cup, straight into the eyes of the Duchess.