They knew nothing whatever of the truth or the true position.
"We may rely on—on Lord Tristram—to treat the matter with every delicacy, Edge."
"I'm sure of it, Neeld, I'm sure of it."
"He has been through what is practically the same experience himself."
"A very remarkable case, very remarkable. The state of the law which makes such a thing possible——"
"Ah, there I don't agree, Edge. There may be hardships on individuals, but in the interests of morality——"
"You must occasionally put up with damned absurdity," Harry interrupted rather roughly. "I beg your pardon, Mr Neeld. I—I'm a bit worried over this."
They sat silent then, watching him for a few moments. He stood leaning his arm on the mantel-piece, his brows knit but a smile lingering on his lips. He was seeing the scene again, the scene in which he was to tell Cecily. He knew what the end of it would be.
They were strangers now. The scene would leave them strangers still. Still Mina Zabriska would be left to cry, "You Tristrams!" Given that they were Tristrams, no other result was possible. They had been through what Mr. Neeld called practically the same experience already; in that very room it had happened.
Suddenly the two men saw a light born in Harry's eyes; his brow grew smooth, the smile on his lips wider. He gave a moment's more consideration to the new thing. Then he raised his head and spoke to Wilmot Edge.