“Even the striving to alter them,” she said, “may tend towards betterment.”
“A platitude,” he declared—“and hopeless!”
She raised her eyes to his.
“Anyhow,” she said softly, “I care for him.”
He bowed low.
“Incomprehensible,” he murmured. “Take your freedom and marry this young man if you must. But I warn you that you will be miserable. Apples and green figs don’t grow on the same tree.”
He drew an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Jean le Roi,” he said, “was married to Annette Hurier, in the town of Châlons, two years before he posed before you as the Duke of Languerois. You will find Annette’s address in there. It took me a year to trace this out—a wasted year! Bah! you women are all disappointments. We will go and play bridge.”
Lady Peggy stared at Wilhelmina when they entered the library a few minutes later.
“What on earth have you been doing to her, Gilbert?” she demanded. “She’s a changed woman!”