“In any case he would not have killed himself,” replied Mrs. Pendleton sharply. “Such a disgrace! He was the proudest of men, he would never have done it.”
“You always hark back to that.” There was faint irritation in Austin’s tone.
“I really cannot get away from it, Austin. Can you conceive of any reason?”
“There was a reason in Robert’s case. I did not mention it to you last night in the presence of the police sergeant, but I told Dr. Ravenshaw, and he is inclined to agree with me. Since then I have thought it over carefully, and I am convinced that I am right.”
“What is the reason?”
“You recall the disclosure Robert made to us yesterday afternoon?”
“About his marriage and Sisily?”
“Yes. It must have been very painful to Robert, more painful than we imagine. It would come home to him later with stunning force—all that it implied, I mean. At the time Robert did not foresee all the consequences likely to ensue from it. It was likely to affect his claim for the title, because he was bound to make it known. When he came to think it over he must have realized that it would greatly prejudice his claim. A body like the House of Lords would do their utmost to avoid bestowing an ancient name on a man, who, by his own showing, lived with a married woman for twenty-five years, and had an illegitimate daughter by her. These are painful things to speak of, but they were bound to come out. My own feeling is that Robert had a bitter awakening to these facts when it was too late—when he had made the disclosure. And he may have felt remorse—”
“Remorse for what?”
“Remorse for giving the secret away and branding his daughter as illegitimate on the day that her mother was buried. It has an ugly look, Constance, there’s no getting away from that.”