"Need we go straight back?" said Hermione. "Why not tell him to drive

down to the Embankment? It's quiet there at night, and open and fine--one

of the few fine things in dreary old London. And I want to have a last

talk with you, Emile."

Artois pushed up the little door in the roof with his stick.

"The Embankment--Thames," he said to the cabman, with a strong foreign

accent.

"Right, sir," replied the man, in the purest cockney.

As soon as the trap was shut down above her head Hermione exclaimed: "Emile, I'm so happy, so--so happy! I think you must understand why now.

You don't wonder any more, do you?"

"No, I don't wonder. But did I ever express any wonder?"

"I think you felt some. But I knew when you saw him it would go. He's got

one beautiful quality that's very rare in these days, I think--reverence.

I love that in him. He really reverences everything that is fine, every

one who has fine and noble aspirations and powers. He reverences you."

"If that is the case he shows very little insight."

"Don't abuse yourself to me to-night. There's nothing the matter now, is

there?"

Her intonation demanded a negative, but Artois did not hasten to give it.

Instead he turned the conversation once more to Delarey.

"Tell me something more about him," he said. "What sort of family does he

come from?"

"Oh, a very ordinary family, well off, but not what is called specially

well-born. His father has a large shipping business. He's a cultivated

man, and went to Eton and Oxford, as Maurice did. Maurice's mother is

very handsome, not at all intellectual, but fascinating. The Southern

blood comes from her side."

"Oh--how?"

"Her mother was a Sicilian."

"Of the aristocracy, or of the people?"

"She was a lovely contadina. But what does it matter? I am not marrying

Maurice's grandmother."

"How do you know that?"

"You mean that our ancestors live in us. Well, I can't bother. If Maurice

were a crossing-sweeper, and his grandmother had been an evilly disposed

charwoman, who could never get any one to trust her to char, I'd marry

him to-morrow if he'd have me."

"I'm quite sure you would."

"Besides, probably the grandmother was a delicious old dear. But didn't

you like Maurice, Emile? I felt so sure you did."

"I--yes, I liked him. I see his fascination. It is almost absurdly

obvious, and yet it is quite natural. He is handsome and he is charming."




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