At any rate she would believe so.
"And when you and Morry return to Varenac I shall come too," she declared, nodding her pretty head. "And learn to know my aunt and cousin. You see how lonely I am here, so I shall come."
"Impossible!"
"Not at all, if you both go."
"Men may go, chère cousine, where maids may not."
"Yes, yes; I have heard that before. But do you know, Jéhan, I have always had my own way and done what I willed since I first toddled."
He smiled, well believing it, and wondering what his stately mother, with her old-fashioned ideas of what was convenable for demoiselles of birth, would say to this wayward child, who knew no restrictions and was good comrade before grand lady.
"I shall come," she added determinedly. "It is no use smiling up your sleeve in that way. And so let us go now and find Giles and tell him we are ready to sup. I am hungry, although I have only been sitting here for hours day-dreaming, so you must be famished. I am so sorry, monsieur. I fear I lack virtue as a hostess."
She dropped him a curtsey, apologetic yet half laughing, and led the way downstairs, he following, wondering at her freedom from bashfulness, yet admiring too, for it was done with all the charm and frankness of a child, and lacked any spice of forwardness.
So tête-à-tête they supped, lingering over dessert of grapes and plums, whilst Jéhan de Quernais told of the tempest-lashed old château, not far from St. Malo, where he had lived from babyhood.