“Only as I like an elderly man who used to give us chocolates and treats when we were children,” she said quietly.
Ralph in his relief laughed aloud.
“He wouldn’t be flattered if he knew that you called him elderly. He thinks himself just in his prime. How long shall you be abroad?”
“Six weeks I think,” said Evereld.
There was a silence. They had walked to the extreme end of the Parade and had wandered down to the sea itself. “Let us sit here by this boat,” she suggested. “It is so hot walking.”
Ralph silently assented; she glanced at him in some perplexity. Why had he so suddenly become quiet and troubled.
“Something has vexed you,” she said gently, yet with a smile. “A penny for your thoughts.”
“I am thinking,” said Ralph, “how hard it is that every holiday-maker, every idle lounger in Switzerland will have the chance of being with you while I am altogether cut off from your set, and can only think how other men will be making love to you.”
“They won’t,” she said in low tones. “A girl can always stop that if she chooses. I have heard Mrs. Hereford say so.”
“If you were going to be with her it would be more bearable. But you will be with Sir Matthew, whose one idea is how to make other people and other people’s money serve his purposes. Don’t stop me Evereld—I can’t help it—I distrust him and with very good cause. He and his hateful speculations were the death of my father. I have proof of that, actual proof.”