“Why am I going away? I am not going what you call, away. I am going rather, as we should say, home—with mamma. Is it not the most natural thing to do?”
“Did you ever call Madame do Mirfleur’s house home before?” said Everard; “do you mean it? Are not you coming to Whiteladies, to your own country, to the place you belong to? Reine, you frighten me. I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Do I belong to Whiteladies? Is England my country?” said Reine. “I am not so sure as you are. I am a Frenchwoman’s daughter, and perhaps, most likely, it will turn out that mamma’s house is the only one I have any right to.”
Here she paused, faltering, to keep the tears out of her voice. Everard did not see that her lip was quivering, but he discovered it in the tremulous sound.
“What injustice you are doing to everybody!” he cried indignantly. “How can you treat us so?”
“Treat you? I was not thinking of you,” said Reine. “Herbert will go to Whiteladies in May. It is home to him; but what is there that belongs to a girl? Supposing Herbert marries, would Whiteladies be my home? I have no right, no place anywhere. The only thing, I suppose, a girl has a right to is, perhaps, her mother. I have not even that—but mamma would give me a home. I should be sure of a home at least—”
“I do not understand you, Reine.”
“It is tout simple, as mamma says; everything is tout simple,” she said; “that Herbert should stand by himself, not wanting me; and that I should have nothing and nobody in the world. Tout simple. I am not complaining; I am only saying the truth. It is best that I should go to Normandy and try to please mamma. She does not belong to me, but I belong to her, in a way—and she would never be unkind to me. Well, there is nothing so very wonderful in what I say. Girls are like that; they have nothing belonging to them; they are not meant to have, mamma would say. It is tout simple; they are meant to ménager, and to cajole, and to submit; and I can do the last. That is why I say that, most likely, Normandy will be my home after all.”
“You cannot mean this,” said Everard, troubled. “You never could be happy there; why should you change now? Herbert and you have been together all your lives; and if he marries—” Here Everard drew a long breath and made a pause. “You could not be happy with Monsieur, your stepfather, and all the little Mirfleurs,” he said.
“One can live, one can get on, without being happy,” cried Reine. Then she laughed. “What is the use of talking? One has to do what one must. Let me go in, please. Balconies and moonlights are not good. To think too much, to talk folly, may be very well for you who can do what you please, but they are not good for girls. I am going in now.”