“You mean that she’s going to Paris too? I say, Shanks, they’re leaving to-morrow.”
Shanks knew that much, quite well enough.
“Have you tried to stop her?” he demanded sternly.
Driscoll only looked disgusted.
“But have you–asked her?”
Driscoll’s head jerked a nod, of wrath ascending.
The inquisitor wisely swerved. What her answer had been was, to say the least, palpable. But her reason for it was the question with Daniel.
“Is it,” he pursued, “is it because she hasn’t any dot? You know, Jack, that in France, when a young lady––”
“No, it’s not that. I know it’s not.”
510“Oh ho,” said Daniel, “so you’ve been guessing too! And how many guesses did she give you? No, let me try just a few more. It ain’t because, because she’s an aristocrat?”