“In a man it goes without saying. By-the-bye, what atrocious brutes these horses of Ursula’s are. I’ve an idea, Nellie, that she’s very badly off.”
“All the more reason for her to console herself. A poor widow remarries much sooner than a rich one, and with far less opportunity.”
“’Tisn’t said that she’d better herself. If she marries she ought to marry Gerard. It would be her bounden duty.”
“Thank you, for Gerard’s sake,” retorted Helena, now very bitterly indeed. And they lapsed into silence. Was there really any prospect of Ursula’s marrying Gerard? It was this question which had long held Nellie van Troyen’s heart as in a vise, pinching it and torturing it, and refusing to let it rest. It was this question which now hunted her to the Horst. She was determined to see with her own eyes how matters stood. “I shall find out,” she told herself. “I must, even if I have to ask her. To think of Willie’s trumpery gold piece! It is horrible, all the suffering. But my life is a beautiful romance.” She smiled, and reflectively arranged her dress. “You like me, you know, Willie,” she said, “in pink.”
“Yes,” he replied, “though I don’t know why. Blue suits your fair complexion better. But, somehow, I can’t bear to see you in blue.”
“I know why. Shall I tell you? It is because you have some delightful memories connected with a creature in blue.”
“You are wrong,” he said, quite coolly. “It is because I have some detestable memories connected with a creature in blue.”
“Oh, ‘delightful,’ ‘detestable,’ that is all one in such cases. So you see, I was right. Here we are.”
“Well, shall we wager?” he asked, as he helped her to alight.
“If you like. But you are pretty sure of your gold piece, for I certainly shall not trouble her unless she drives me to it.”