He raised his hand in protest.
"You're right; we won't talk any more," she said. "But don't think that it's all only because I'm overwrought, or something feminine of that kind. It's the truth. When it comes, Aunt Maria'll die and I shall live; but the difference won't be as great as it sounds."
This time he was about to speak, but she stopped him, saying, "No, no more now. Tell me about Dick Benyon. He's to have your seat, isn't he?"
"Yes, I'm gathered to my fathers, and Dick reigns in my stead."
"You're sorry?" she asked, forgetting Dick and coming back again to the man before her.
"Yes; but I accept the inevitable and contrive to be quite cheerful about it."
"We don't do either of those things. Hark, I hear my husband's step."
Quisanté ran quickly up the stairs and burst into the room. His face was alight with animation, and before greeting Marchmont he cried, "I've carried it, I've brought them round. We attack all along the line, and I open the ball at Henstead next week! They'll be out in six months, and I shall——" Suddenly he paused. "They'll be out in six months," he said again.
Marchmont rose and shook hands, "It doesn't matter to me now if they are," he said, laughing. "Blair's troubles and mine are both over now."
"I know," nodded Quisanté. "Well, I suppose you know best. But hasn't May been trying to convert you?"