"You must pardon me; but Mrs. Newell is a very ingenious woman." Mr. Newell shook out his remaining crumbs and turned thoughtfully toward Garnett.
"You believe it's quite clear to Hermione that these people will use my refusal as a pretext for backing out of the marriage?"
"Perfectly clear—she told me so herself."
"Doesn't she consider the young man rather chicken-hearted?"
"No; he has already put up a big fight for her, and you know the French look at these things differently. He's only twenty-three and his marrying against his parents' approval is in itself an act of heroism."
"Yes; I believe they look at it that way," Mr. Newell assented. He rose and picked up the half-smoked cigar which he had laid on the bench beside him.
"What do they wear at these French weddings, anyhow? A dress-suit, isn't it?" he asked.
The question was such a surprise to Garnett that for the moment he could only stammer out—"You consent then? I may go and tell her?"
"You may tell my girl—yes." He gave a vague laugh and added: "One way or another, my wife always gets what she wants."