She shook her head at him, but did not argue the point. And then she began to tell him about her aunt's letter. That really interested him. "Cecily is a hypochondriac—she always has been—since her husband's death. She ought to be ashamed of herself to write to you like that! Don't turn a hair. Derrick and I mean to keep you with us. You surely didn't wish to go to her?" "No, oh, no! But if you hadn't been ill, I might have gone to her for a little visit!" "Not to be thought of! When once you're over there, you'll never get away! I went once soon after her husband's death, but never again! I loathe those French meals; you starve till twelve o'clock, then overeat yourself—not with good nourishing food, but all kinds of slops and vegetable messes. They give you cabbage-water for soup, and their chickens are all skin and bone. And as for drink, some white wine is Cecily's one and only! She always was a bad housekeeper, but her meals over there are perfect cautions!" "How came she to marry a Frenchman?" "She met him in Paris. Your father was Consul there at the time, and she went to stay with him, and got acquainted with the Count. I think the title and Château had some weight with her. He was a nice old chap, years older than herself, and he had been married before, and had one son." "Then how is it that his son doesn't have the Château? Why does Aunt Cecily live in it?" "Châteaux are not very attractive in these days. There is seldom enough money to keep them up, and they're cold and draughty, and tumbling to pieces. He told his father before he died that he would never live in it. He was a keen explorer and has spent his life travelling round the world. I believe he has come back now for a time. He owns the small home farm, not far from the Château, where he stays. He paid us a visit here once. It was when you were at school. Rather a bumptious young fellow. Not a bit French! Takes after his mother, who was an American." Adrienne thought over this. "Then I suppose Aunt Cecily owns the Château, and she likes it better than England." "She's more French than a genuine Frenchwoman; always liked Paris—its ways—and its gowns! No, she'll never end her days in England!" Then giving a lurch in bed, he hurt his knee. Conversation was at an end, and Adrienne needed all her patience to cheer and soothe him. When the Admiral returned, things were better, and she was able to get away, and have a little time to herself. But the General was in bed for a week, and when at last he could get downstairs, it was only to hobble about with the help of a crutch.