“Not quite everybody,” said Shield. “Sylvester knows, however, that—”
“You should not call your great-uncle Sylvester!” interrupted Eustacie. “It is not at all respectful.”
“My good child, the whole world has called him Sylvester for the past forty years!”
“Oh!” said Eustacie doubtfully. She sat down on a sofa upholstered in blue-and-gold-striped satin, folded her hands, and looked expectantly at her suitor.
He found this wide, innocent gaze a trifle disconcerting, but after a moment he said with a gleam of amusement: “There is an awkwardness in this situation, cousin, which I, alas, do not seem to be the man to overcome. You must forgive me if I appear to you to be lacking in sensibility. Sylvester has arranged a marriage of convenience for us, and allowed neither of us time to become in the least degree acquainted before we go to the altar.”
“In France,” replied Eustacie, “one is not acquainted with one’s betrothed, because it is not permitted that one should converse with him alone until one is married.”
This remark certainly seemed to bear out Sylvester’s assurance that his granddaughter understood the nature of his arrangements. Sir Tristram said: “It would be absurd to pretend that either of us can feel for the other any of those passions which are ordinarily to be looked for in betrothed couples, but—”
“Oh yes, it w ould! ” agreed Eustacie heartily.
“Nevertheless,” pursued Sir Tristram, “I believe such marriages as ours often prosper. You have accused me of disliking females, but believe me—”
“I can see very well that you dislike females,” interrupted Eustacie. “I ask myself why it is that you wish to be married.”