"I didn't understand French at that time, but you explained the meaning of it all to me. You remember you took me into your study and told me how he thought you frightfully immoral to have a young girl living in your house without her parents, and that he wished you to make a solemn set of promises to him to the effect that you would be a good friend and guardian to me all your life. You said it was a fearful nuisance, but that if you didn't do it, he meant to get to work and find my proper guardians and make things generally unpleasant."
"You remember that clearly?"
"Certainly I do, and so do you. What is the use of this tiresome repetition? It is quite beside the point."
"No, it is not. Just one more question—you remember going back into the dining-room to the priest and making the promises, I suppose?"
"Yes; we stood before him and you made the promises. I didn't—though I certainly said 'Oui' whenever you told me to, and some words after him once. It was then you gave me this ring that I always wear. By the way, Luce, I'm tired of wearing it. You can have it back."
"Thank you, my dear girl; but I wouldn't think of depriving you of it. It is your wedding-ring."
"My—? I think you have gone mad, Luce."
"Not at all. That is your wedding-ring, Poppy. When we stood before the priest that day we were being married."
She burst out laughing. "Really, Luce," she said contemptuously, "you are developing a new form of humour. Does it amuse you?"
"Not much," he said drily; "not so much as it does you, apparently. I don't see anything funny in a marriage ceremony. I remember being exceedingly annoyed about it at the time. But I have come round since then." As he went on, Poppy ceased to smile contemptuously; when he had finished speaking, her mouth was still disdainful, but she was appreciably paler.