“Well, yes. Je ne dis pas autrement! I haven’t a word to say against him. He is always nice to my face, though I don’t believe he likes me in his heart. You see I am not of your sort, Zai.”
Zai smiles softly at this, and then, with a woman’s way of harping on love subjects when in love herself, says suddenly:
“I wonder if Baby will marry Lord Delaval one of these days?”
“Lord Delaval!” echoes Gabrielle, with a start and a frown. “And why on earth should she marry him?”
“Because he has been fond of Baby as long as I can remember. When we were all children together, he used to fight her battles, and Baby at five was the most quarrelsome little monkey that you can imagine. She does not care for him now, but used to love sitting on his knee, and patting his cheeks, and on revient toujours, you know.”
“No! I don’t know,” Gabrielle answers with acerbity.
Her big black eyes dilate as she takes in each unwelcome word and her full red lip curls scornfully.
“I do hate stupid little reminiscences of childhood, Zai.
‘I remember! I remember! when my little lovers came!
With a lily or a cherry, or a new invented game!’
Did you ever hear such inane trash as this sort of thing, Zai! Are you a simpleton or are you trying to throw dust in my eyes? We know each other too well for that. Let us speak truth always. I like truth under all circumstances, even if the hearing of it crushes my heart and spoils my life; but of course let those live on lies who like them!”