Back to Octon's phrase went Jenny—back to the words in which he had bequeathed his "legacy" to her. Her face softened. "I shall do the handsome thing by her," she said in a low voice. "Can't you understand why I do this?" she asked him. "You were one of the few people who seemed to understand why I brought her here—to be with me. Can't you understand this?"
"Perhaps I can—a little. But is it fair to Lord Fillingford?"
"I can't think always and forever of Lord Fillingford," she told him impatiently. "He isn't all the world to me. I am thinking of Leonard—this is all I can do for him now. I'm thinking of the child—and of myself. I can give up for myself, but this is my compensation. What I could have she is to have—because she loves Amyas, and I love her—and because I loved her father. That's what I mean. I daresay you've some very hard names for it. They made me give up Leonard once—at any rate behave as if I was ashamed of him. Very well. They must take Leonard's daughter now—or that worse thing you and I know of."
"I'm still on the worldly plane," Alison said, smiling. "You can, of course, if you're so minded, abolish all objections except the sentimental. If it's a hundred thousand for an Institute, what mightn't it be for a whim, Miss Driver?"
"And what mightn't it be for my dear man who's dead?" said Jenny, very low.
He got up, went to her, and took her hands. She did not repel him. He whispered a word or two to her—of comfort or sympathy, as his manner indicated. Then he looked round at me. "You've had a hand in this mischief, I suppose, Austin?"
"Oh, we just take our orders in this house," said I.
"Heaven humble your heart!" he said to her, but now the rebuke was kindly, almost playful.
"The present question is of humbling Lord Fillingford's," retorted Jenny.
Alison walked back to the window. Jenny gave me a quick nod of satisfaction; the fight was going well. "Are they still there?" she asked.