‘Speak for yourself, Master Dick. As Robert Macaire says, “Je viens de toucher mes dividendes,” and I am in no want of money. The fact is, so long as a man can pay for certain luxuries in life, he is well off: the strictly necessary takes care of itself.’
‘Does it? I should like to know how.’
‘With your present limited knowledge of life, I doubt if I could explain it to you, but I will try one of these mornings. Meanwhile, let us go into the drawing-room and get mademoiselle to sing for us. She will sing, I take it?’
‘Of course—if asked by you.’ And there was the very faintest tone of sneer in the words.
And they did go, and mademoiselle did sing all that Atlee could ask her for, and she was charming in every way that grace and beauty and the wish to please could make her. Indeed, to such extent did she carry her fascinations that Joe grew thoughtful at last, and muttered to himself, ‘There is vendetta in this. It is only a woman knows how to make a vengeance out of her attractions.’
‘Why are you so serious, Mr. Atlee?’ asked she at last.
‘I was thinking—I mean, I was trying to think—yes, I remember it now,’ muttered he. ‘I have had a letter for you all this time in my pocket.’
‘A letter from Greece?’ asked she impatiently.
‘No—at least I suspect not. It was given me as I drove through the bog by a barefooted boy, who had trotted after the car for miles, and at length overtook us by the accident of the horse picking up a stone in his hoof. He said it was for “some one at the castle,” and I offered to take charge of it—here it is,’ and he produced a square-shaped envelope of common coarse-looking paper, sealed with red wax, and a shamrock for impress.
‘A begging-letter, I should say, from the outside,’ said Dick.