“I am very much flattered to hear that you have thought of me at all; but I am not aware of having warranted the expectation you so kindly express.”
“I guess you must have said something to my wife which led her to do more than expect—to reckon on your return. And, by the way, sir, I am charged to deliver to you this note from her, and to back the request it contains that you will avail yourself of the offer. Without summarising the points I do so.”
Graham glanced over the note addressed to him
“DEAR MR. VANE,—Do you forget how beautiful the environs of Paris
are in May and June? how charming it was last year at the lake of
Enghien? how gay were our little dinners out of doors in the garden
arbours, with the Savarins and the fair Italian, and her
incomparably amusing chaperon? Frank has my orders to bring you
back to renew these happy days, while the birds are in their first
song, and the leaves are in their youngest green. I have prepared
your rooms chez nous—a chamber that looks out on the Champs
Elysees, and a quiet cabinet de travail at the back, in which you
can read, write, or sulk undisturbed. Come, and we will again visit
Enghien and Montmorency. Don’t talk of engagements. If man
proposes, woman disposes. Hesitate not—obey. Your sincere little
friend, Lizzy.”
“My dear Morley,” said Graham, with emotion, “I cannot find words to thank your wife sufficiently for an invitation so graciously conveyed. Alas! I cannot accept it.”
“Why?” asked the Colonel, drily.
“I have too much to do in London.”
“Is that the true reason, or am I to suspicion that there is anything, sir, which makes you dislike a visit to Paris?”
The Americans enjoy the reputation of being the frankest putters of questions whom liberty of speech has yet educated into la recherche de la verite, and certainly Colonel Morley in this instance did not impair the national reputation.
Graham Vane’s brow slightly contracted, and he bit his lip as if stung by a sudden pang; but after a moment’s pause, he answered with a good-humoured smile: