“’Tis a fine case, isn’t it?”
“Oh, really, do you think so, Miss Sassenay?”
“Yes, really. As for me, if I were in love it would be all the same to me if my fiancé were sent to the galleys. I’d follow him, do you hear, sir. And if I had to commit some crime to be sent after him, I’d commit it. Biff, boom! Just like that!”
“You’re a child,” he commented; then brusquely he changed his tone, and whispered in a heavy voice:
“Do you think I have no regrets for her?”
She changed as quickly as he had, triumphantly, and was almost on the point of falling on his neck. Mrs. Sassenay, surprising this by-play from a distance, was distressed by what she saw, and blamed herself for her neglect.
“Oh, I knew quite well, sir,” said Jeanne, “that you couldn’t want to marry me. Good, then, be off with you. Run and tell Margaret. Beg her for my sake to forgive you. Take your place again quickly in the family before the trial comes on. Afterwards it will be too late. It will do more good than prescribing all sorts of nasty medicines for your sick people.”
“Thanks.”
“Be off then, at once.”
“But it’s half-past eleven,” argued Raymond.