"Oh, we haven't come to talking about lawyers yet," Grafton interrupted him. "Look here, Lassigny; Beatrix is hardly more than a child; you ought not to have made love to her without at least coming to me first. You wouldn't do it in your own country, you know."
He had not meant to say that, or anything like it. But it was very difficult to know what to say.
"In my own country," said Lassigny "—but you must remember that I am only half French—one makes love, and one also marries. The two things don't of necessity go together. But I have known England for a long enough time to prefer the English way."
This was exactly the opening that Grafton wanted, but had hardly expected to be given in so obvious a way.
"Exactly so!" he said, leaning forward a little, with his arm on the table by his side. "You marry and you make love, and the two things don't go together. Well, with us they do go together; and that's why I won't let my daughters marry anybody but Englishmen, if I can help it."
Lassigny looked merely surprised. "But what do you think I meant?" he asked. "I love Beatrix. I love her with the utmost respect. I pay her all the honour I can in asking her to be my wife."
"And how many women have you loved before?" asked Grafton. "And how many are you going to love afterwards?"
Lassigny recoiled, with a dark flush on his face. "But do you want to insult me?" he asked.
"Look here, Lassigny," said Grafton again. "We belong to two different nations. I'm not going to pick my words, or disguise my meaning, out of compliment to you. It's far too serious. You must take me as an Englishman. You know enough about us to be able to do it."
"Well!" said Lassigny, grudgingly, after a pause. "You asked me a question. You asked me two questions. I think they are not the questions that one gentleman ought to ask of another. It should be enough that I pay honour to the one I love. My name is old, and has dignity. I have——"