“Your rage won’t prevent their gossiping, Mr. Jacob, I thought, perhaps, your friendship might have done something to stop it—­to—­to influence Julie,” she added, uncertainly.

“My friendship, as you call it, is of no use whatever,” he said, obstinately.  “Warkworth will go away, and if you and others do their best to protect Miss Le Breton, talk will soon die out.  Behave as if you had never heard the man’s name before—­stare the people down.  Why, good Heavens! you have a thousand arts!  But, of course, if the little flame is to be blown into a blaze by a score of so-called friends—­”

He shrugged his shoulders.

The Duchess did not take his rebukes kindly, not having, in truth, deserved them.

“You are rude and unkind, Jacob,” she said, almost with the tears in her eyes.  “And you don’t understand—­it is because I myself am so anxious—­”

“For that reason, play the part with all your might,” he said, unyieldingly.  “Really, even you and I oughtn’t to talk of it any more.  But there is one thing I want very much to know about Miss Le Breton.”

He bent towards her, smiling, though in truth he was disgusted with himself, vexed with her, and out of tune with all the world.

The Duchess made a little face.

“All very well, but after such a lecture as you have indulged in, I think I prefer not to say any more about Julie.”

“Do.  I’m ashamed of myself—­except that I don’t retract one word, not one.  Be kind, all the same, and tell me—­if you know—­has she spoken to Lord Lackington?”

The Duchess still frowned, but a few more apologetic expressions on his part restored a temper that had always a natural tendency to peace.  Indeed, Jacob’s boutades never went long unpardoned.  An only child herself, he, her first cousin, had played the part of brother in her life, since the days when she first tottered in long frocks, and he had never played it in any mincing fashion.  His words were often blunt.  She smarted and forgave—­much more quickly than she forgave her husband.  But then, with him, she was in love.

So she presently vouchsafed to give Jacob the news that Lord Lackington at last knew the secret—­that he had behaved well—­had shown much feeling, in fact—­so that poor Julie—­

But Jacob again cut short the sentimentalisms, the little touching phrases in which the woman delighted.

“What is he going to do for her?” he said, impatiently.  “Will he make any provision for her?  Is there any way by which she can live in his house—­take care of him?”

The Duchess shook her head.

“At seventy-five one can’t begin to explain a thing as big as that.  Julie perfectly understands, and doesn’t wish it.”

“But as to money?” persisted Jacob.

“Julie says nothing about money.  How odd you are, Jacob!  I thought that was the last thing needful in your eyes.”