"The pity of it!" he murmured, with a soft intonation of profound sorrow.
"The child's a pearl. Let her be happy! Is the beauty of it nothing to you?"
"Yes, it's much—and your love for her is much." He paused a moment. "And perhaps I should be overbold to speak against that other love of yours—now. Maybe it lies beyond the jurisdiction committed to us here on earth."
Jenny was, I fear, entirely devoted to earth and, at that moment, to arranging her own bit of earth as she wanted to have it. She gave him no thanks for what was, from him, a very considerable concession. Rather she fastened on his softer mood as affording her an opportunity.
"Then you oughtn't to be against me," she urged.
"I'm not against you. This is not my ground—not my business."
"You might even help me." He looked doubtful at that. "Simply in one way. There's one little thing you can do easily, though it's difficult for me. For all the rest, I leave you to do anything or nothing, just as you think proper."
"What's the one little thing?" he asked.
"Bring Lord Fillingford and Margaret together. It's very easy—except for me—and it commits you to nothing. Give her her chance. Anyhow, none of the trouble's her fault, is it?"
"There doesn't seem much harm in that."