The changeling

I said with what I hoped was a touch of sarcasm: “Now we have returned to the familiar methods. You complain about my veiling the truth with my romanticism so now I will tell you that \ do not believe a word you say. You would use the same words, express the same sentiments, to any woman to whom you happened to be talking at the time. It signifies nothing. It is just idle conversation with you.”

“You are right. But in this case it happens to be true.”

“So you admit that you, who so admire the truth and think it should be revealed to all, are frequently false?”

Again the lifting of the shoulders, the spreading of the hands. “In France,” he said, “a young man’s father will arrange for him to take a mistress ... usually an older charming worldly woman. It is to teach him the ways of the world so that when he marries he will not be gauche. You understand?”

“I have heard of this, but we are not French and it would seem we have a different code of morals here.”

“I doubt that the English are persistently moral while the French are universally corrupt.”

“Is this going to become a nationalistic battle between us?”

“By no means. There is so much here that I love, but there are times when your countrymen can be a little hypocritical, posing as the so-virtuous when they might be slightly less so than they proclaim. I think a little experience before marriage is good for us all, so that when we come to the greatest adventure, which is marriage, we know how to deal with those little crises which arise in the best-regulated unions. In all endeavors, experience is something to be cherished.”

“Are you suggesting that I ... should be trying to gain this ... experience?”

“I would not dare suggest such a thing. In fact I apologize most sincerely for having raised the subject.”

“I accept your apology and now we can drop the matter.”

“May I refill your tankard?”

“No thanks. I am ready to leave now. I think I should. There are things I have to do at home.”

He bowed his head. “First,” he said, “I want you to tell me that I am really forgiven.”

“You have apologized and I have accepted it.”

“I was very foolish.”

“I thought you were so wise on account of all your experience which I am sure has been great.”

He looked at me in such a forlorn manner that I could not help laughing. “That is better,” he cried. “I believe I am truly forgiven. You see, I have always admired you so much. Your freshness, your beauty, your approach to life. Do not think I do not admire that innocence of yours, that air of chastity ...”

“Oh please, you are going too far. I may be innocent and ignorant of those matters in which you are so well versed, but I do know flattery when I hear it. And you have laid it on with a trowel, as I have heard it described.”

“So I am foolish, am I not?”

“Listen. You think you understand me. Well, I understand you, too. You are very interested in women. You cannot keep your eyes from them. You are looking for a quick seduction with servant girls and in fact everyone you meet. There are some who say this is natural in young men. It is no concern of mine except that I insist they keep their speculative eyes off me.”

He smiled in a rather appealing way.

“I am duly chastened,” he said. “I see I have been quite foolish.”

“Well, I suppose we all are at times.”

“Then we are good friends again?”

“Of course. But please don’t talk to me in this fashion ever again.”

He shook his head emphatically. “And now another tankard to seal our reconciliation?”

“I have had enough, thank you.”

“Just a sip ... or I shall think I am not well and truly forgiven.”

The cider was brought and we lifted our tankards.

“Now we are the best of friends,” he said. “And we shall talk about High Tor and as soon as the Stennings have gone you and Monsieur Pedrek will come over and I will show you everything you want to see.”

“Thank you. That is what we want.”

We talked of High Tor and then he began to tell me about the miniature court at Chislehurst and the members of the French aristocracy who visited the Empress from time to time.

He was very amusing and he had a gift for mimicry which could be very funny, particularly when he was imitating his own formal countrymen and -women. I laughed a great deal and he was delighted. I could not understand what had made him talk to me as he had in the beginning. However, I believed I had made him realize his mistake.

So after all it was quite a pleasant afternoon.

The Stennings had delayed their departure for a week but at length they left; and it was a Tuesday morning when Jean Pascal sent a message to me at Cador. He was asking Mr. Pencarron to come over that afternoon at three o’clock so that they could clear up a few points which Mr. Pencarron wished to raise. Would I care to come and join them? I sent the messenger back saying that I should be pleased to.

The girls were there when the messenger came and wanted to know what it was all about.

“It’s from Monsieur Bourdon,” I said.

“From High Tor?” asked Belinda.

“Yes.”

“Are you going over there this afternoon?”