"It is a pleasure," said Alphonse, airily, as we passed the lighthouse and the cob settled down into a steady trot, "to drive such a horse as this."
"No doubt," said Turner; "but next time I take a cab."
We arrived at the Manor House in time for luncheon, and were received by the ladies at the door. Lucille, I remember, looked grave, but it appeared that the Vicomtesse was in good spirits.
"Then the news is true," she cried, before we had descended from our high places.
"Yes, Madame, for a wonder good news is true," answered Turner, and he stood bareheaded, after the manner of his adopted country, while he shook hands.
On this occasion we all frankly spoke French, for to John Turner this language was second nature. We had plenty to talk of during luncheon, and learnt much from the Paris banker which had never appeared in the newspapers. He had, indeed, passed through a trying ordeal, and that with an imperturbable nerve and coolness of head. He made, however, little of his own difficulties, and gave all his attention to Madame's affairs. Whenever he made mention of my name I saw Lucille frown.
After luncheon we went to the garden, which extends from the grim old house to the cliff-edge, and is protected on either side by a double rank of Scotch firs, all twisted and gnarled by the winter winds—all turning westward, with a queer effect as of raised shoulders and shivering limbs.
Within the boundary we have always, however, succeeded in growing such simple flowers as are indigenous to British soil—making a gay appearance and filling the air with clean-smelling scents.
"Your garden," said Madame, touching my arm as we passed out of the dining-room window, "always suggests to me the English character—not much flower, but a quantity of tough wood."
Alphonse joined us, and embarked at once on the description of an easterly gale such as are too common on this coast, but new to him and grand enough in its onslaught. For the wind hurls itself unchecked against the cliff and house after its career across the North Sea.