“Ah, for many reasons. I love her as much as if she were my own child. You may believe me or not, Lord Ethalwood, but I do.”
“I do believe it—but what of that?”
“This: No woman ever quite forgives another for running down her husband or exposing his foibles, or his vices—if you like that term better. That is why I have not chosen to be the accuser in this case. You will acknowledge—albeit unwillingly, perhaps—that I am right.”
The earl made no reply.
He was silent for some time, and seemed to be much troubled.
Presently he offered his hand to his companion, who shook it warmly.
“I am answered, Lady Marvlynn,” said he. “You have taught me a lesson. What you have said is but a proof of your discretion—your perspicuity—your intelligence. You would have been overstepping the line which prudence and good sense draws for all of us. Questions like these are at all times difficult to deal with, and in my haste and zeal I had overlooked this fact, and I have to apologise to you for pressing you upon the point. I see now, my grand-daughter, who, to say the truth, has much of the Ethalwood in her, will not yield without good and sufficient cause.”
“And I admire her for it,” cried Lady Marvlynn, with some warmth.
“You are her friend,” said the earl, musingly. “A wiser and more truthful one no woman ever had.”
“I understand her better than you do.”