"His daughter is coming to him for a year: he has been here to-night to ask me to call on her—to chaperone her sometimes."
"Is the man a fool?" said Oliver.
"I think," Mrs. Romaine answered, somewhat unsteadily, "that Mr. Brooke never knew—exactly—that his wife was jealous of me."
"Oh, that's too much to say. He must have known."
"I am pretty sure that he did not. From things that he has said to me, I feel certain that he attributed only a passing irritation to her on my account. You do not believe me, Oliver; but I think that he is perfectly ignorant of the real cause of her leaving him."
"And you know it?"
"I know it, and Lady Alice knows it: no one else."
"What was it, then? You mean more than simple jealousy, I see."
"Yes, but—I am not obliged to tell you what it was."
"Oh, no. Keep your own counsel, by all means. But you are placing yourself in a very risky position. Lady Alice Brooke knows something that would, I suppose, compromise you in the world's eyes, if it were generally known. Her daughter is coming to Brooke's house. You mean—you seriously mean—to go to his house and visit this girl? thereby offending her mother (who is sure to hear of the visit) and bringing down the ill-will of all the Courtleroys upon your head? Have you no regard for your character and your position in the world? You are risking both, and you have nothing to gain."