“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Mrs. Monteagle. “A terrible blow to Pearl, you say? My good lady, take comfort; Pearl is perfectly heart-whole. Your son is the only person to be pitied in the affair. Ha! ha! ha! Capital! So you thought Pearl was in love with him? What an excellent joke!”
Mme. Léopold did not see the joke, and was deeply offended by this manner of treating the matter.
“I see nothing surprising in the fact of my son’s inspiring a sentiment,” she replied. “You yourself seemed of that opinion yesterday. As to Léon, he could not deny it when I put it to him; he had to admit that it was true.”
“True that Miss Redacre had a passion malheureuse for him? He says so, does he? Then I heartily congratulate Pearl on escaping him,” said Mrs. Monteagle, bridling with the spirit of a gentlewoman and a loyal friend. “I thought your son was a gentleman; it seems he is a cowardly coxcomb.”
“Madame!” Mme. Léopold stood up in wrath.
“I sincerely congratulate my young friend on escaping such a husband!”
“You mean to insult me?”
“I mean to speak my mind. I am sorry if it insults you; but you may tell your son from me, madame, he is stating what is false when he says that Miss Redacre is in love with him: it is a delusion of his own vanity.”
“He never said it,” said Mme. Léopold. “When I said so he did not deny it; he feigned not to believe it; but when I persisted in affirming it he spoke in the kindest terms of Miss Redacre, and declared he was ready to make any sacrifice of his own inclination and happiness if it was necessary to—”
“Pray tell him nothing of the sort is necessary. I am sure it is most kind of him,” said Mrs. Monteagle with a contemptuous chuckle. “He never will have the luck to get such a wife; he is not worthy of her.”