“Allow me to explain. At the time of your sweet little wife’s death, Marion was constantly included in the blame laid to Madame Braelands. You know now how unjustly.”
“I would rather not have that subject discussed.”
“But, by Heaven, it must be discussed! I have, at Marion’s desire, said nothing hitherto, because we both saw how much you were suffering; but, sir, if you are going away from Fife, you must remember before you go that the living have claims as well as the dead.”
“If Marion has any claim on me, I am here, willing to redeem it.”
“‘If,’ Braelands; it is not a question of ‘if.’ Marion’s name has been injured by its connection with your name. You know the remedy. I expect you to behave like a gentleman in this matter.”
“You expect me to marry Marion?”
“Precisely. There is no other effectual way to right her.”
“I see Marion in the garden; I will go and speak to her.”
“Do, my dear fellow. I should like this affair pleasantly settled.”
Marion was sitting on the stone bench round the sun dial. She had a white silk parasol over her head, and her lap was full of apple-blossoms. A pensive air softened her handsome face, and as Archie approached, she looked up with a smile that was very attractive. He sat down at her side and began to finger the pink and white flowers. He was quite aware that he was tampering with his fate as well; but at his very worst, Archie had a certain chivalry about women that only needed to be stirred by a word or a look indicating injustice. He was not keen to perceive; but when once his eyes were opened, he was very keen to feel.