Chapter Forty.
Conclusion.
Summer has come round once more, and again, amid all the glories of a cloudless evening, we stand beside the banks of the rippling Lant—howbeit not without misgiving, for are we not about to enact the part of eavesdroppers towards those two strolling languidly, contentedly, there by the shining water?
“It strikes me, child, you seem inclined to find life rather a happy thing,” a voice well-known to us is saying. “And you’ve no business to.”
A loving pressure of the strong arm on which she is leaning is the only answer Yseulte deigns at first to make. Then:
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve done a very wrong thing. If the late lamented Dudley were alive, he would tell you that a man may not marry his grandmother, and by parity of reasoning a woman may not marry her grandfather. Now this is just what you have done, and it’s very wrong of you.”
She gave his arm a pinch.