"You are overtaxing my patience, Inglefield," said Mr. Manners. "You assert that you are anxious to satisfy me upon certain points which I consider vital, and yet you take advantage of any slight word or remark which offers the opportunity of evasion. If this opinion is unpalatable to you, thank yourself for it. I have seen the lady of whom we are speaking but once in my life, and on the occasion she visited me I was surprised at the impression she produced upon me. I expected to see a woman whose appearance would have justified the opinion I had formed of her through your statements. I saw, on the contrary, a lady of gentle manners, a lady of culture and refinement, who received with dignity and respect the reproachful words I addressed to her. She needed to be accomplished, indeed, in duplicity and artfulness to have so successfully simulated the air of modesty and gentleness which distinguished her."
"You are not versed in the ways of such women, sir," said Inglefield. "They can deceive the cleverest of men."
"Possibly. I am waiting to ascertain whether I have been so deceived. At present, everything is in her favor. You informed me that she was a vulgar, showy person whose appearance in good society would bring ridicule upon my son."
"That is the opinion I formed of her, sir, from more complete evidence than you are supplied with."
"I understood that you were very well acquainted with her; intimately, I think, you said."
"I knew her very well, sir."
"Intimately? You told me so at the time."
"Yes, sir, intimately," replied Inglefield, inwardly cursing his patron's faithful memory.
"I am glad to be corroborated; it shows that you are speaking frankly. You related to me a story of the arts she used to entangle you, of your seeing through them, and escaping. Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir."