“From D’Aiglan, the Frenchman. He has done me a great deal of good. I am ready for any emergency.”
Wilson elevated his eyebrows expressively, and looked at Jeffray with curious intentness.
“I always thought that you were a man of peace, sir,” he said.
Jeffray laughed rather grimly, and, drawing Wilson away into the yew walk, told him briefly the whole tenor of his love affair with Miss Hardacre. He was beginning to learn that truth and the sword are much akin, and that brave candor is often more magical than sentimental secretiveness. Wilson, much astonished, plodded to and fro at Jeffray’s side, fingering his chin and emitting an expressive interjection from time to time. He was a broad-minded student of the world’s whims and weaknesses, and his sympathies were wholly with Jeffray in the matter.
“What are you going to do, sir?” he asked at last.
“Tell the truth as kindly as I can, Dick, and defy this fire-eating cousin of mine. I have no intention of financing the family by marrying the daughter.”
“You have made up your mind, eh?”
“I am tired, Dick, of contemplating a life-long hypocrisy.”
Wilson brushed the tobacco ash and snuff from his waistcoat, whistled a few lines of a favorite ditty, and then laid his hand on Jeffray’s shoulder.
“I think you are right, sir,” he said.