“Ah....” said Andree. Then: “And why not, mademoiselle? What has that to do weeth the marriage? It was a silly question, was it not?”
Ken regarded her anxiously, but she gave no sign that she had attached any significance to his question other than a faint note in the long-drawn “Ah....” with which she had heard it stated.
“Yes, it was a ver’ silly question,” Andree repeated, “for if it ees not then there shall nevair be any marriages at all.”
“I don’t know....” said Maude.
“Perhaps it ees bicause mademoiselle ees ver’ yo’ng and does not know the worl’,” said Andree, with an air of age and wisdom.
“No. It is something in myself. I resent the idea.”
“Then there is but one hope for mademoiselle.... She mus’ marry the monk.”
“Now, listen here,” said Ken, bruskly. “This—this—Oh, darn it all, let’s talk about something else.”
Andree laughed gaily and pointed a finger of ridicule at him. “Oh, see! We have frighten’ him.... He is ver’ droll. Sometime’ he is same theeng as yo’ng girl jus’ from the convent.... But he is ver’ good, mademoiselle,” she said, suddenly and seriously. “He is mos’ good and gentle and kind, and I love him ver’ much.”
Maude touched Andree’s hand, and her eyes were not guiltless of moisture. “I am sure you do, dear,” she said, “and he must love you very dearly, too.”