MORNAY BECOMES UNPOPULAR
Mornay’s eyes opened wide with astonishment and interest. He set down upon the table, untasted, the cup he had raised to his lips, and leaned intently forward.
“Is it true?” he exclaimed; “and Mistress Barbara has nothing—nothing at all?” He broke into a hard, dry little laugh. “Pardieu! ’twill lower her chin, I’m thinking.” Then his face clouded again.
“Go on, monsieur,” he urged, impatiently—“go on.”
“If I can remember it, there’s a bit of family history ye have not heard, perhaps. Well, ye must know that the Chevalier Bresac, great-grandfather of this Mistress Clerke, bore a most intolerant hatred of Spain and the Spanish. His son René inherited this antipathy. So when he married an English girl and settled in London, he vowed that if any one of his three daughters married a Spaniard he would cut her off with a louis.”
He took a long draught of his wine. “Here is where the confession begins. The eldest daughter disobeyed and married a Spaniard in
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