"Well, I suppose it's as he said to me--what annoyed me so--that marriage is a thing apart with him and his like. He's got plenty to offer in marriage, and it would probably annoy him much more than it would an Englishman in the same sort of position as his, to be turned down. He may have been sorry that he'd cut it off himself so decisively, but his pride wouldn't let him do anything to recover his ground. That's what I think has happened." "Well, but what about his being in love with her? That'd count a good deal with a girl like her, I should say--Frenchman or no Frenchman." "He's been in love plenty of times before. He knows how easy it is to get over, if she doesn't--the sort of love _he's_ likely to have felt for her. It might have turned into something more, if he'd known her longer. Perhaps he didn't know that; they don't know everything about love--the sensualists--though they think they do. She hadn't had time to make much impression on him--just a very pretty bright child; I think he'd have got tired of her in no time, sweet as she is. Oh, I'm thankful we've got rid of him. I've never done a better thing in my life than when I stopped it. But I'm not having a happy time about it at present, Worthing. No more is my little B." CHAPTER XVI CLOUDS The fact that Lassigny's proposal to Beatrix and her acceptance of it had taken place in a houseful of people made it impossible to keep the affair a family secret. Reminders of its being known soon began to disturb the quietude of Abington Abbey. Grafton went up to the Bank a few days after he had brought Beatrix down, and his sister-in-law called upon him there and asked to be taken out to luncheon. She had come up from the country on purpose and wanted to hear all about it. Grafton was seriously annoyed. "My dear Mary," he said politely, "it can only be a pleasure to take you out to lunch at any time, and in half an hour I shall be ready to take you to the Berkeley, or wherever you'd like to go to. Will you make yourself comfortable with the paper in the meantime?" "Oh, I know you're furious with me for having come here, George," she said, "and it's quite true I've never done it before. But I _must_ talk to you, and when James said you were coming up to-day I knew it was the only way of getting you. You'd have put me off politely--you're always polite--if I'd telephoned. So please forgive me, and go back to your work till you're ready. I'll write a letter or two. I shall love to do it on the Bank paper."