“Hum, Richard, mon cher, pardon me, but you look worried, troubled. Will you not confide in an old woman, eh? I have seen a great deal of the world.”
Jeffray, who had been leaning with one elbow on the window-sill, and drumming on the glass with his fingers, turned suddenly, looking vexed and half ashamed. He had still enough mock pride left in him to resent the steady conviction that his elderly relative had warned him very shrewdly. He had always half despised the worldly old Jezebel, but she seemed to have the laugh of him for the moment.
“To tell you the truth, madam,” he said, unbosoming himself with clumsy brusqueness and with an effort, “Jilian has been much disfigured.”
The Lady Letitia leaned forward on her stick.
“There, there, mon cher Richard, I understand.”
“I gave it to her.”
“And now you love her no longer, nephew, eh? Do not contradict me, sir, I can see it in every line of your face. Poor boy! poor boy! It is a mercy that you are not married.”
Jeffray, who had been writhing and reddening before the old lady’s eyes, started and flashed a questioning look at her as the last words were uttered.
“A mercy, madam!” he exclaimed.
“Of course, my dear.”