Jeanne of the MarshesOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
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Jeanne of the Marshes
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories; English fiction -- 20th century
"Three months," she remarked, "is not a long time. Wait, my dear child,
until you have at least lived through a single season before you commit
yourself to any final opinions."
Their host intervened. He was beginning to find the conversation dull.
He was far more interested in another matter.
"Let us talk about that visit," he said to the Princess. "I do wish
that you could make up your mind to come. Of course, I haven't any
amusements to offer you, but you could rest as thoroughly as you like.
They say that the air is the finest in England. There is always bridge,
you know, for the evenings, and if Miss Jeanne likes bathing, my
gardens go down to the beach."
"It sounds delightful," the Princess said, "and exactly what we want.
We have a good many invitations, but I have not cared to accept any of
them, for I do not think that Jeanne would care much for the life at an
ordinary country house. I myself," she continued, with perfect truth,
"am not squeamish, but the last house-party I was at was certainly not
the place for a very young girl."
"Make up your mind, then, and say yes," Cecil de la Borne pleaded.
"You shall hear from us within the next few days," the Princess
answered. "I really believe that we shall come."
The little party left the restaurant a few minutes later on their way
into the foyer for coffee. The Princess contrived to pass out with
Forrest as her companion.
"I think," she said under her breath, "that this is the best
opportunity you could possibly have. We shall be quite alone down
there, and perhaps it would be as well that you were out of London for
a few weeks. If it does not come to anything we can easily make an
excuse to get away."
Forrest nodded.
"But who is this young man, De la Borne?" he asked. "I don't mean that.
I know who he is, of course, but why should he invite perfect strangers
to stay with him?"
The Princess smiled faintly.
"Can't you see," she answered, "that he is simply a silly boy? He is
only twenty-four years old, and I think that he cannot have seen much
of the world. He told me that he had just been abroad for the first
time. He fancies that he is a little in love with me, and he is
dazzled, of course, by the idea of Jeanne's fortune. He wants to play
the host to us. Let him. I should be glad enough to get away for a few
weeks, if only to escape from these pestering letters. I do think that
one's tradespeople might let one alone until the end of the season."
Forrest, who was feeling a good deal braver since dinner, on the whole
favoured the idea.
"I do not see," he remarked, "why it should not work out very well
indeed. There will be nothing to do in the evenings except to play
bridge, and no one to interfere."
"Besides which," the Princess remarked, "you will be out of London for
a few weeks, and I dare say that if you keep away from the clubs for a
time and lose a few rubbers when you get back your little trouble may
blow over."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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