“Go amiss! with Sir Thomas. There is nobody he might not marry, Markham—not that anything has ever been said.”
“Let him have anybody he pleases except little Fan. I won’t have anything happen to Fan. She is not one that would stand it, like the rest of us. We are old stagers; we are trained for the stake; we know how to grin and bear it. But that little thing, she has never been brought up to it, and it would kill her. I won’t have anything go wrong with little Fan.”
“There is nothing going wrong with Frances. You are not talking with your usual sense, Markham. If that was coming, Frances would be a lucky girl.”
Markham looked at her with his eyes all pursed up, nearly disappearing in the puckers round them. “Mother,” he said, “we know a girl who was a very lucky girl, you and I. Remember Nelly Winterbourn.”
It gave Lady Markham a shock to hear Nelly’s name. “O Markham, the less we say of her the better,” she cried.
There was another arrival while they talked—Claude Ramsay, with the flower in his coat a little rubbed by the greatcoat which he had taken off in the hall, though it was now June. “I heard you had come back,” he said, dropping languidly into a chair by Constance. “I thought I would come and see if it was true.”
“You see it is quite true.”
“Yes; and you are looking as well as possible. Everything seems to agree with you. Do you know I was very nearly going out to that little place in the Riviera? I got all the renseignements; but then I heard that it got hot and the people went away.”
“You ought to have come. Don’t you know it is at the back of the east wind, and there are no draughts there?”
“What an ideal place!” said Claude. “I shall certainly go next winter, if you are going to be there.”