“Very,” answered Shield in a damping tone.
“Yes, so do I,” agreed Eustacie. “In London I think I might have a great success, because I do not look like an Englishwoman, and I have noticed that the English think that foreigners are very épatantes.”
“Unfortunately,” said Sir Tristram, “London is becoming so full of French emigrés that I doubt whether you would find yourself in any way remarkable.”
“I remember now,” said Eustacie. “You do not like women.”
Sir Tristram, uncomfortably aware of the footman behind his chair, cast a glance at his cousin’s empty plate, and got up. “Let us go into the drawing-room,” he said. “This is hardly the place to discuss such—er—intimate matters!”
Eustacie, who seemed to regard the servants as so many pieces of furniture, looked round in a puzzled way, but made no objection to leaving the dining-table. She accompanied Sir Tristram to the drawing-room, and said, almost before he had shut the door: “Tell me, do you mind very much that you are to marry me?”
He answered in an annoyed voice: “My dear cousin, I do not know who told you that I dislike women, but it is a gross exaggeration.”
“Yes, but do you mind?”
“I should not be here if I minded.”
“Truly? But everybody has to do what Grandpère tells them.”