“And he said your political opinions were deplorable. What are your political opinions, Mynheer van Helmont?”
“Deplorable,” replied Theodore, with a ready championship which astonished himself.
“Ah, you two are in close sympathy, I see. So much the better.” She dropped her voice. “But is it not a strange thought to you, Mynheer van Helmont, that this old place is now certain to pass, in due time, to Ursula’s children, whatever their name may happen to be?”
“No,” replied Theodore; “it’s no business of mine.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed, angrily. “The Baron van Helmont thinks differently, no doubt. Why, if Ursula has some seizure to-night, I suppose we shall soon see a Lord Mopius of Horstwyk! Fie, Mynheer van Helmont, this poor creature at my side has more spirit than you.”
Ursula could not avoid hearing enough of this aside to understand its meaning. She felt that everybody had heard it. Passionate as she was, she fixed her eyes on the table-cloth. She remained conscious that Helena, that everybody, even while the talk went on, was watching her. At last she lifted them—those steadfast brown eyes.
“It is six months to-day,” she said, “exactly six months. Only six months since Otto and Baby died.” And she rose from the table.
“Ursula, you have forgotten the dessert,” cried Aunt Louisa, lingering.
Ursula turned back.
“True,” she said. “I beg everybody’s pardon. Won’t you try some of mamma’s preserved orange-leaves, Helena? You will find them as good as ever.”