'He didn't mean to,' she said, almost inaudibly. 'You know what I think.'
Lord Findon restrained himself. In his eyes there was no excuse whatever for his scoundrel of a son-in-law, who after six years of marriage had left his wife for an actress, and was now living with another woman of his own class, a Comtesse S., ten years older than himself. He knew that Eugénie believed her husband to be insane; as for him, he had never admitted anything of the kind. But if it comforted her to believe it, let her, for Heaven's sake, believe it—poor child!
So he said nothing—as he paced up and down—and Eugénie finished the rearrangement of the roses. Then she turned to him, smiling.
'You didn't know I saw Elsie yesterday?'
'Did she confide in you?'
'Oh, that—long ago! The poor child's dreadfully in love.'
'Then it's a great responsibility,' said Lord Findon, gravely. 'How is he going to satisfy her?'
'Only too easily. She would marry him blindly—on any terms.'
There was a short silence. Then Eugénie gathered up the letter she had been reading when her father entered.
'Let's talk of something else, papa! Do you know that I've had a very interesting letter from Mr. Fenwick this afternoon?'