This was the one thoughtful remark he had made, and she looked at him with a trifle less suspicion, then remembered having read an intensely conservative article in one of the reviews, not long since. She had left it in the library, she recalled. But it was odd that he should open a review. She had never known him to read anything but French novels and the Pink ’Un. Was he trying to educate his mind, late in life? Far be it from her to discourage him, even if it did lead to impossible dreams. She rose from the table.
“Well, it will be picturesque,” she said. “I suppose I shall wear gold brocade to breakfast —”
“I have not risen,” said France, in an even remote tone.
“Oh? What? Are you practising on me?”
France turned almost purple. But he made no reply. He merely rose with great dignity and left the room. Julia watched him cross the court with as much interest as amusement. His back was imposing, regal. Nature certainly had started in a lavish mood to fashion him, then suffered from a fit of spleen when she finished his shoulders, and vented it on his head—without and within! Poor devil, what mortifications awaited him! For the moment she forgot the bitter debt she owed him.
VIII
On the following day, at luncheon, France remarked:—
“I shall leave cards on the county. When they are returned, no one will be admitted. I do not wish you to have any relations with my neighbors.”
“I haven’t the least desire to have any relations with our neighbors.”
“And you will exercise on foot hereafter. I shall want all the mounts.”