"You shall not lose me, nor would I willingly lose you. But, Mr. Bertram—"
"Well, Miss Gauntlet?"
"Are you right to be here at all?"
The whole tone, and temper, and character of his face altered as he answered her quickly and sharply—"If not, the fault lies with Sir Henry Harcourt, who, with some pertinacity, induced me to come here. But why is it wrong that I should be here?—foolish it may be."
"That is what I mean. I did not say wrong; did I? Do not think that I imagine evil."
"It may be foolish," continued Bertram, as though he had not heard her last words. "But if so, the folly has been his."
"If he is foolish, is that reason why you should not be wise?"
"And what is it you fear, Adela? What is the injury that will come? Will it be to me, or to her, or to Harcourt?"
"No injury, no real injury—I am sure of that. But may not unhappiness come of it? Does it seem to you that she is happy?"
"Happy! Which of us is happy? Which of us is not utterly wretched? She is as happy as you are? and Sir Henry, I have no doubt, is as happy as I am."