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Gasgoyne, and said in his father's manner as much as possible, for now his mind ran back to how his father talked and acted, forming a standard for him: "My father once told me a tale of the Keithley Hunt something 'away up, as they say in the West and a Mrs. Warren Gasgoyne was in it." He made an instant friend of Mrs. Gasgoyne made her so purposely.
But in a day or two there came a letter-unusually long for Gaston to Mrs. Gasgoyne herself. It was simple, descriptive, with a dash of epigram. It acknowledged that he had felt the curb, and wanted a touch of the unconventional. It spoke of Ian Belward in a dry phrase, and it asked for the date of the yacht's arrival at Gibraltar. "Warren, the man is still sensible," she said.
Lady Dargan could make no effort of memory, but she replied without hesitation or conscience: "Yellow and brown." "There," said Mrs. Gasgoyne, "we are both wrong, Captain Maudsley. Sophie never makes a mistake." Maudsley assented politely, but, stealing a look at Lady Dargan, wondered what the little by-play meant. Gaston was between Sir William and Mrs. Gasgoyne.
It was difficult to separate here on the quay: they must all walk together to the hotel. Gaston turned to speak to Andree, but she was gone. She had saved the situation. The three spoke little, and then but formally, as they walked to the hotel. Mr. Gasgoyne said that they would leave by train for Paris the next day, going to Douarnenez that evening. They had saved nothing from the yacht.
An hour after, when she was in her room, he opened the little bundle of correspondence. A memorandum with money from his bankers. A letter from Delia, and also one from Mrs. Gasgoyne, saying that they expected to meet him at Gibraltar on a certain day, and asking why he had not written; Delia with sorrowful reserve, Mrs. Gasgoyne with impatience.
I've heard him speak of both, but which is in him I do not remember." "It is very painful; but, poor fellow, it is not his fault, and we ought to be content." "Indeed, it gives him great originality. Our old families need refreshing now and then." "Ah, yes, I said so to Mrs. Gasgoyne the other day, and she replied that the refreshment might prove intoxicating. Reine was always rude."
Three of them, indeed, had been drinking his health. They embraced him and kissed him, begging him to come with them for absinthe. He arranged the matter with a couple of francs. Then he wondered what now was to be done. He could not insult the Gasgoynes by asking them to come to the chateau. He proposed the Hotel de France to Mr. Gasgoyne, who assented.
"No reason against it, if husband and father in you yearn for bibs and petticoats." "I say, Belward, don't laugh!" "I never was more serious. Who is the girl?" "She looks up to you as I do-of course that's natural; and if it comes off, no one'll have a jollier corner chez nous. It's Delia." "Delia? Delia who?" "Why, Delia Gasgoyne. I haven't done the thing quite regular, I know.
Did you see the boots and the sash? Why, bless me, if you are not shaking! Don't be silly shivering at the thought of Robert Belward after all these years." So saying, Mrs. Warren Gasgoyne tapped Lady Dargan on the arm, and then turned sharply to see if her daughters had been listening.
Gaston enjoyed talking with Mrs. Gasgoyne as to no one else. Other women often flattered him, she never did. Frankly, crisply, she told him strange truths, and, without mercy, crumbled his wrong opinions. He had a sense of humour, and he enjoyed her keen chastening raillery. Besides, her talk was always an education in the fine lights and shadows of this social life.
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