“Because, though she does not love him now, love may come with marriage. It is often the more solid for coming a little late.”
Lord Ethalwood shook his head.
“You do not think so?”
“No, indeed, I should be blind to facts if I did,” returned he.
“I do not think so.”
It could not possibly occur to the mind of Madame Trieste that in speaking thus she was wounding the heart of her guest and friend. The idea that her daughter, the fortuneless daughter of a poor lieutenant of gendarmerie, might cast her eyes upon a proud wealthy English nobleman never for a moment occurred to her.
“You will understand that what I have told you is strictly confidential,” said Madame Trieste, “and you will not, of course, ever mention the subject to my dear Theresa under any circumstances.”
“Certainly not—I should not think of doing so. You may rely upon my discretion in this matter.”
“Thanks, my lord, a thousand thanks. It is now getting late, and the night air is cool. Will you come indoors?”
“I will rejoin you in a few minutes.”