Brigit was annoyed. Last
night she had hoped for one of his outbursts, but now that it had come
she was ashamed for him. And she shivered as she realised that this
shame was a serious sign.
"Horrid speech," she remarked, looking into the teapot she had forgotten
to fill with water, "isn't it, Theo?"
But Theo only laughed and shrugged his shoulders. His father was his
father, and except in little matters, such as satin and too flamboyant
ties, not to be even mentally criticised.
"But it is true, my dear," continued Joyselle, the mischief suddenly
gone from his face, a shrewd look of inquiry taking its place. "You are
going to marry into a peasant family, you know." Another change of mood!
He was severe now and disapproving.
She held up her head. "No one could call Theo a peasant, could they,
Duchess?"
Joyselle understood, and with bewildering rapidity again changed.
"Bravo!" he cried, laughing heartily. "You are marrying the _son_, you
mean, not the father. _C'est vrai, c'est vrai!_"
His utter unconsciousness was a great blessing, no doubt, but at that
moment it nearly maddened her. Was he blind?
Apparently he was, as he drank some mineral water and talked to the
Duchess.
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