"I'm quite up to that," said Archie. "I must let her know I'm there of course. I understand all that."
"Then why don't you do it? I thought you meant to go to her at once when we were talking about it before in London."
"So I did go to her, and got on with her very well, too, considering that I hadn't been there long when another woman came in."
"But you didn't tell her what you had come about?"
"No; not exactly. You see it doesn't do to pop at once to a widow like her. Ongar, you know, hasn't been dead six months. One has to be a little delicate in these things."
"Believe me, Archie, you had better give up all notions of being delicate, and tell her what you want at once,—plainly and fairly. You may be sure that she will not think of her former husband, if you don't."
"Oh! I don't think about him at all."
"Who was the woman you say was there?"
"That little Frenchwoman,—the sister of the man;—Sophie she calls her. Sophie Gordeloup is her name. They are bosom friends."
"The sister of that count?"