"What sort of a Frenchman is he? I've known several kinds in my life—so have you, no doubt," and a quiet smile overspread his face. "Come, Bess! Hurry up, old girl."
"A gentleman, I should think, from what she writes. He is much older than Lucy, and she says very well off."
"Then you didn't meet him on the other side?"
"And never heard of him before?"
"Not until I received this letter."
The doctor reached for his whip and flecked off a fly that had settled on the mare's neck.
"Lucy is about twenty-seven, is she not?"
"Yes, some eight years younger than I am. Why do you ask, John?"
"Because it is always a restless age for a woman. She has lost the protecting ignorance of youth and she has not yet gained enough of the experience of age to steady her. Marriage often comes as a balance-weight. She is coming home to be married, isn't she?"
"No; they are to be married in Geneva at his mother's."