“Geoffrey should hear you,” replied the old lady dryly. The other laughed:
“Seeing that Geoffrey is an officer in the American navy I do not think he would have any fault to find with my eulogy of French gallantry. I am rejoiced to hear that this flower of chivalry is coming home. Now that the Bourbons are in power again I suppose he finds his occupation gone.”
But Miss Anne was looking into the fire, the ghost of a smile puckering her bloodless lips disagreeably.
“You might be rejoiced to hear it in Paris or Petersburg, but not in this place; no, not in this place.”
“You are right, I daresay. In Charleston I have discovered that a brother-in-law is a blood relation, not a flimsy connection by marriage. Flirtation with one is therefore robbed of all its venom—of all its fascination, also. Still, as I remember Captain Grantham—”
“This is not the one you remember.”
“You said Geoffrey’s brother?”
“Sans doute! But Reginald’s brother also.”
“Reginald’s brother? You speak in riddles; you have just said it was Reginald’s self. Is he not Captain Grantham?”
“No; I should have said his alter ego. Reginald is now Colonel of artillery.”