"Neither, by intention," I answered. "I am still at the Forks."
He laughed, rather sarcastically. "Well, when you leave them, if you chance to come my way, the Chateau is at your disposal. Meanwhile, I'll endeavor to steer Madame Spencer, alias Dalberg, toward it."
I could feel the deliberate sneer, but it was too well veiled to resent, openly.
"At least, don't expect me as a guest while she is there," I replied.
"I don't imagine I would want you, then," said he. He went over to the door; then returned and, leaning on the back of a chair, looked at me thoughtfully.
"What now?" I wondered—and waited.
"There is a matter, cousin," he began, "which has been on my mind lately—and this may be as good a time as any to take it up."
I nodded. "Go ahead—we are in the humor for confidences, this afternoon, it seems."
"And for plain speaking?" he asked.
"Between men I'm always for that," said I. "It's the safest in the end."