We had heard the end of Soeur Julie's story, and had no further excuse
to keep her tied to the duties of hostess. When the Becketts had left
something for the poor of the hospice, we bade the heroine of
Gerbeviller farewell, and started out to regain our automobiles, Julian
O'Farrell suddenly appearing at my side.
"Don't make an excuse that you must walk with your brother," he said.
"He's all right with Dierdre; perhaps just as happy as with you! One
_does_ want a change from the best of sisters now and then."
"Mrs. Beckett----" I began.
"Mrs. Beckett is discussing with Mr. Beckett what they can do for
Gerbeviller, and they'll ask your advice when they want it. No use
worrying. They've boodle enough for all their charities, and for the
shorn lambs, too."
"Do you call yourself a shorn lamb?" I sniffed.
"Certainly. Don't I look it? Good heavens, girl, you needn't basilisk me
so, to see if I do! You glare as if I were some kind of abnormal beast
eating with its eyes, or winking with its mouth."
"You do wink with your mouth," I said.
"You mean I lie? All romantic natures embroider truth. I have a romantic
nature. It's growing more romantic every minute since I met you. I
started this adventure for what I could get out of it. I'm going on to
the end, bitter or sweet, for _les beaux yeux_ of Mary O'Malley. I don't
grudge you the Becketts' blessing, but I don't know why it shouldn't be
bestowed on us both, with Dierdre and Brian in the background throwing
flowers.
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