"Have you reason to
believe that he's really at his last?"
"I've no information but a telegram. Unfortunately it only
confirms a probability."
"I'm going to ask you a strange question," said Madame Merle. "Are
you very fond of your cousin?" And she gave a smile as strange as
her utterance.
"Yes, I'm very fond of him. But I don't understand you."
She just hung fire. "It's rather hard to explain. Something has
occurred to me which may not have occurred to you, and I give you
the benefit of my idea. Your cousin did you once a great service. Have
you never guessed it?"
"He has done me many services."
"Yes; but one was much above the rest. He made you a rich woman."
"He made me? Madame Merle appearing to see herself successful, she
went on more triumphantly: "He imparted to you that extra lustre which
was required to make you a brilliant match. At bottom it's him
you've to thank." She stopped; there was something in Isabel's eyes.
"I don't understand you. It was my uncle's money."
"Yes; it was your uncle's money, but it was your cousin's idea. He
brought his father over to it. Ah, my dear, the sum was large!"
Isabel stood staring; she seemed to-day to live in a world illumined
by lurid flashes.
Pages:
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982