"Trust him—how?" Mr. Fitzalan was fond of delving to the roots of things and words.
"Father, you know what I mean." Marjory's tone was a degree petulant, and a dent appeared on her brow.
"There are degrees and varieties of trust. You suppose that Harvey will be henceforward materially lowered in Mr. Dalrymple's opinion. I am not so sure."
"He must be lowered; he cannot be anything else."
"That depends upon the stand which he has taken hitherto,—in Mr. Dalrymple's opinion, I mean. He is not lowered in mine."
"Father!" The expression of the emotions in Marjory could at this moment no further go.
"I don't say that I approve of his action. I merely say that my opinion of him is not altered. He has always been a very pleasant fellow, willing and even anxious to please everybody, after himself. So much as that I have trusted him, and so much I may trust him still. He does not wish to distress anybody, and so far as is convenient he will make up for any distress which he may have given. It is not all men who would run away from a bride of three weeks to soothe the feelings of a great-uncle."
"Why did he not bring her with him?"
"Rather a startling step, under the circumstances. Suppose he had telegraphed, 'Expect my wife and myself by such-and-such a train!'"
"But if he had written earlier—if he had written at first."