"Oh, I'm so sorry, I am indeed. You must believe me, Mr. Coxon. If I had foreseen this I—I would have guarded against it. But now—indeed, I'm so sorry."
Lady Eynesford's sorrowful sympathy failed to touch Coxon's softer feelings.
"What is there to be sorry about?" he demanded, almost roughly.
"Why this—this unfortunate misunderstanding. Of course I thought it was Eleanor; you seemed so suited to one another."
Coxon, ignoring the natural affinity suggested, remarked,
"There's no harm done that I can see, except that I hoped I had you on my side. Perhaps I shall have still."
Sympathy had failed. Lady Eynesford, recognising that, felt she had a duty to perform.
"I dare say I am to blame," she said, "but I never thought of such a thing. Really, Mr. Coxon, you must see that I wasn't likely to think of it," and her tone conveyed an appeal to his calmer reason. She was quite unconscious of giving any reasonable cause of offence.
"Why not?" he asked, the silky smoothness of his manner disappearing in his surprise and wounded dignity.