At length,
screwing up one eye, and with a suggestive smile, he answered: "Sure,
it's all a matter of time, to the selfishest woman. 'Tis not the same
with women as with men; you see, they don't get younger--that's a point.
But"--he gave a meaning glance at the priest--"but perhaps she's not
going to wait for that, after all. And there he rides, a fine figure of
a man, too, if I have to say it!"
"M'sieu' Varley?" the priest responded, and watched a galloping horseman
to whom Finden had pointed, till he rounded the corner of a little wood.
"Varley, the great London surgeon, sure! Say, father, it's a hundred to
one she'd take him, if--"
There was a curious look in Father Bourassa's face, a cloud in his eyes.
He sighed. "London, it is ver' far away," he remarked obliquely.
"What's to that? If she is with the right man, near or far is nothing."
"So far--from home," said the priest reflectively, but his eyes furtively
watched the other's face.
"But home's where man and wife are."
The priest now looked him straight in the eyes. "Then, as you say, she
will not marry M'sieu' Varley--hein?"
The humour died out of Finden's face.
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