She might be wholly in earnest when she said that she abhorred the wealth of which she was the sole possessor. He was tempted to believe that she was entirely sincere; but she was the daughter of William Massarene. She was anathema maranatha.
She bowed to suggest to him that his interview had lasted long enough.
“Good-day to you,” she said coldly.
“Good-day,” repeated Hurstmanceaux. “In a month’s time you will hear from me. Meanwhile, forget if you can.”
Then he left the library.
She remained standing beside the heavy table laden with choice octavos and the reviews of the month.
She had been tempted out of her habitual silence, and had opened a little window into her heart. And she regretted that she had done so, as, alas! we always do; for there is nothing which we regret so bitterly, and pay for so heavily, as the confidence we give. She was vexed with herself, also, that she had dismissed him so soon and so abruptly, that she had not endeavored to atone for that brutal action after death, that cruel legacy which her father had left in vengeance. She felt that he would pay the money back, if to do so he had to sell every rood of land he possessed, and she hated herself for having sent him, however innocently on her part, that barbed legacy of the dead. She understood how deep a wound it must have given to a man of the principles, the temperament, and the pride of Hurstmanceaux.
“But he is unjust to me—unjust and hard!” she said half aloud, in her solitude.
Meanwhile he, who had only returned to London an hour previously, took the tidal train to Paris, where he went forthwith to Beaumont.
“What would you, milord?” said Beaumont the following morning. “Madame la duchesse sent that old, fat, common man to pay in her name, and he paid. It was no matter to me who paid. I wanted my money back. Yes; I lent it on the big jewel and the others. Illegal! Oh, ta-ta-ta, milord! Of course all dealings with those pretty married ladies are great risks. We know that in business. That is why I was anxious to get back my money. If I had not had it, I should have gone to law. Perhaps my title to it was unsound, as you say. Perhaps it was. But madame, votre sœur, had had the money from me—she could not have denied that in a law court—and great families do not like scandals which touch them. Ah, no, milord! noblesse oblige we know!”