"Not the value of a brass farthing!"
"But you think——!"
"My dear old donkey, I think—of course I think. I keep my eyes open, which you don't. I know a little sum in arithmetic called two and two, which you, I dare say, have long forgotten. That is all."
"I wish I knew what you were driving at," mutters Sir Francis sulkily.
"What should I be 'driving at'?" asks Lady Jean innocently. "Only when a young man has been entirely devoted to one woman, and then without rhyme or reason suddenly proposes to another for whom he doesn't care a straw, then—well, the little sum in arithmetic comes in useful. That is all."
Sir Francis looks at her half in anger, half in perplexity.
"That's the devil of women," he says with impatience. "They hint and hint, and won't speak out."
"And that's the—ahem—of men," laughs Lady Jean. "They see, and see, and remain so blind."
"I have seen nothing."
"So much the better for you," says Lady Jean, with a shrug of her handsome shoulders. "You might have been annoyed, or uncomfortable; most likely the latter. You have not my secret of taking things lightly. Now, if I saw you making love under my very eyes I should only be amused, or think what bad taste you had to prefer any other woman to me. On se console toujours, mon ami. You do it one way, Lauraine another, I another. But I suppose we each have our own views on the subject of the consolation, or—consoler!"