“Oh, that’s what any house that’s not a cottage is called,” explained Bayre. “It doesn’t necessarily mean a mansion. Have you seen Mr Bayre much lately, Aurélie?”
“Not so much since he married his young wife—” began the girl.
But the exclamations of the three young men checked her and made her look round at them.
“Ah! You know him, perhaps, yourselves?” said she quickly, with a sort of guilty look.
After a moment’s breathless pause they all began to ask her questions at once, and while she hesitated, confused, as to what sort of replies she should make, the door opened quickly and Madame Nicolas, whose attention had perhaps been attracted by the noise they all made by crying out at the same time, came in and looked angrily at the servant.
Whether she merely considered that Aurélie was wasting her time, or whether she was anxious to discourage gossip about her neighbours, it was impossible to say. But certain it is that Madame did not leave the room until the maid had gathered up the last vestige of the meal, and that the young men heard her speak in tones of reproof to the girl when the door was closed.
Bayre looked at his companions and laughed.
“Well, Repton, what do you say to that?” said he. “Where are my chances of insinuating myself into the position of heir now?”
“Things begin to look dicky, certainly,” assented Repton, with a mournful shake of the head. “But it’s all your own fault. You should have come sooner.”
“Wonder what the wife’s like!” remarked Southerley. “Wonder where he got her from!”