“Oh, yes,” interposed the Baroness, “a fool’s decisions always are.”
“Hush, my dear. I mean, Otto, that you have fully considered and weighed the matter, and have made up your mind to go through with it at all costs?” The Baron spoke very quietly.
“Yes,” said Otto, and their eyes met.
“So I thought. Your decision will not be altered in any way by my pointing out that, as long as I live (which I hope to do for a quarter of a century longer), you will never receive a penny from me towards supporting Ursula Rovers? You probably understood that before?”
“I did,” replied Otto. “I don’t want any money. I’m going to work.”
“Quite so. More tea, I suppose? Java?”
Otto’s face fell.
“No,” he said, awkwardly. “Not Java. Ursula doesn’t want to go there.”
The Baroness, who had been beating a silent tattoo with her foot, broke into an impatient exclamation.
“Really, Otto,” said the Baron, with a thin little smile, “you must admit that you are rather provoking. When everybody wants you here, you insist upon living in the tropics, and when—well, the whole thing, therefore, is settled, is it, and practically beyond recall? Mistakes, as your mother just now remarked, usually are. This, of course, is a huge mistake—a life mistake. However, perhaps you are aware of that, too?”