Mrs. Robarts had said nothing of the kind, but she was far too proud to point this out. So with a gentle step she retreated through the door, and then Lady Meredith, having tried what a conciliatory whisper with her mother would do, followed her. Alas, the conciliatory whisper was altogether ineffectual!
The two ladies said nothing as they descended the stairs, but when they had regained the drawing-room they looked with blank horror into each other’s faces. What were they to do now? Of such a tragedy as this they had had no remotest preconception. Was it absolutely the case that Fanny Robarts was to walk out of Lady Lufton’s house as a declared enemy,—she who, before her marriage as well as since, had been almost treated as an adopted daughter of the family?
“Oh, Fanny, why did you answer my mother in that way?” said Lady Meredith. “You saw that she was vexed. She had other things to vex her besides this about Mr. Robarts.”
“And would not you answer any one who attacked Sir George?”
“No, not my own mother. I would let her say what she pleased, and leave Sir George to fight his own battles.”
“Ah, but it is different with you. You are her daughter, and Sir George—she would not dare to speak in that way as to Sir George’s doings.”
“Indeed she would, if it pleased her. I am sorry I let you go up to her.”
“It is as well that it should be over, Justinia. As those are her thoughts about Mr. Robarts, it is quite as well that we should know them. Even for all that I owe to her, and all the love I bear to you, I will not come to this house if I am to hear my husband abused;—not into any house.”
“My dearest Fanny, we all know what happens when two angry people get together.”
“I was not angry when I went up to her; not in the least.”