“Worries,” repeated Monsieur Profond, burring the r's.
Fleur spun round. “Shall I tell you,” she said, “what would give him pleasure?” But the words, “To hear that you had cleared out,” died at the expression on his face. All his fine white teeth were showing.
“I was hearin' at the Club to-day about his old trouble.” Fleur opened her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Monsieur Profond moved his sleek head as if to minimize his statement.
“Before you were born,” he said; “that small business.”
Though conscious that he had cleverly diverted her from his own share in her father's worry, Fleur was unable to withstand a rush of nervous curiosity. “Tell me what you heard.”
“Why!” murmured Monsieur Profond, “you know all that.”
“I expect I do. But I should like to know that you haven't heard it all wrong.”
“His first wife,” murmured Monsieur Profond.
Choking back the words, “He was never married before,” she said: “Well, what about her?”