Frances, when in trouble, went out of doors among the trees as naturally as other women take to their beds.
Lisa's sharp eyes saw her sitting in the Green Park as they passed. The mist, which was heavy as rain, hung in drops on the stretches of sward and filled the far aisles of trees with a soft gray vapor. The park was deserted but for an old man who asked Mrs. Waldeaux for the penny's hire for her chair. As he hobbled away, he looked back at her curiously.
"She gave him a shilling!" exclaimed Lisa, as he passed them. "I told you she was not fit to take care of money.""But why not wait until to-morrow to talk of business?
She is hurt and unnerved just now, and she--she does not like you, Lisa.""I am not afraid. She will be civil. She is like Chesterfield. `Even death cannot kill the courtesy in her.' You don't seem to know the woman, George. Come."But George hung back and loitered among the trees. He was an honest fellow, though slow of wit; he loved his mother and was penetrated to the quick just now by a passionate fondness for his wife. Two such good, clever women! Why couldn't they hit it off together?
"George?" said Frances, hearing his steps.
Lisa came up to her. She rose, and smiled to her son's wife, and after a moment held out her hand.
But the courtesy which Lisa had expected suddenly enraged her. "No! There need be no pretence between us," she said. "You are not glad to see me. There is no pretence in me. I am honest. I did not come here to make compliments, but to talk business.""George said to-morrow. Can it not wait until to-morrow?""No. What is to do--do it! That is my motto. George, come here! Tell your mother what we have decided. Oh, very well, if you prefer that I should speak. We go to Paris at once, Mrs. Waldeaux, and will take apartments there. You will remain with Miss Vance.""Yes, I know. I am to remain----" Frances passed her hand once or twice over her mouth irresolutely. "But Oxford, George?" she said. "You forget your examinations?"George took off his spectacles and wiped them.
"Speak! Have you no mind of your own?" his wife whispered. "I will tell you, then, madam. He has done with that silly whim! A priest, indeed! I am Catholic, and priests do not marry. He goes to Paris to study art.
I see a great future for him, in art."
Frances stared at him, and then sat down, dully. What did it matter? Paris or Oxford? She would not be there.
What did it matter?
Lisa waited a moment for some comment, and then began sharply, "Now, we come to affaires! Listen, if you please. I am a woman of business. Plain speaking is always best, to my idea."Mrs. Waldeaux drew herself together and turned her eyes on her with sudden apprehension, as she would on a snapping dog. The woman's tones threatened attack.
"To live in Paris, to work effectively, your son must have money. I brought him no dot, alas! Except"--with a burlesque courtesy--"my beauty and my blood. I must know how much money we shall have before I design the menage.""George has his income," said his mother hastily.
"Ah! You are alarmed, madam! You do not like plain words about the affaires? George tells me that although he is long ago of age, he has as yet received no portion of his father's estates.""Lisa! You do not understand! Mother, I did not complain. You have always given me my share of the income from the property. I have no doubt it was a fair share--as much as if my father had left me my portion, according to custom.""Yes, it was a fair share," said Frances.
"Ah! you smile, madam!" interrupted Lisa. "I am told it is a vast property, a grand chateau--many securities! M.
Waldeaux pere made a will, on dit, incredibly foolish, with no mention of his son. But now that this son comes to marry, to become the head of the house, if you were a French mother, if you were just, you would---- You appear to be amused, madam?"For Mrs. Waldeaux was laughing. She could not speak for a moment. The tears stood in her eyes.
"The matter has somewhat of droll to you?"
