“Oh! Was he the father of Eris?”
“He was. And is.... What an astonishing reversion to the lovely, aristocratic type of her grandmother.... I encountered her by accident. She was with Elizabeth Blythe, but she was not painted.... I assure you, Barry, it was a severe shock to me. She is the absolute image of her grandmother.... She startled me so.... I never was emotional.... But—I could scarcely speak—scarcely find my voice—to ask her.... But I knew. The girl was Jeanne d’Espremont, alive.”
After a moment: “Did you find her interesting?” he asked.
“She has all the charm and intelligence of her grandmother.... And all her lovely appeal. And her fatal obstinacy.”
“Obstinacy?”
“Yes.... I told her about her grandmother. I asked her to give up her profession and come to me——” Mrs. Grandcourt’s features grew red:—“I offered to stand her sponsor, educate her properly, give her the position in the younger set to which her blood entitled her.... I offered to endow her, Barry.... I think now you understand how I loved her grandmother.”
The idea of his aunt parting willingly with a penny so amazed and entranced the young man that he merely gazed at her incapable of comment.
His aunt rose,—signal that the audience was ended. Annan got up.
“Do you mean,” he said, “that she declined to give up her profession for such a prospect?”
“Not only that,” replied his aunt, getting redder, “but she refused to accept a dollar.... And she hasn’t a penny except her salary. That is like her grandmother, never permitting a favour that she could not return.... Jeanne was poor, compared to me, Barry—my little comrade, Jeanne d’Espremont.... I loved her ... dearly....”