Cousin John looked at her over the top of his goblet, his round, bulgy eyes told her quite plainly that he had read her through and through, and that he for one was not sorry that her little counter-scheme had failed, since she had not thought fit to ask his advice. But he said quite lightly, as one who speaks of a trifle too mean to dwell in the memory:
"Oh! the seventy thousand pounds! They are where they should be, dear Cousin, in Michael Kestyon's pocket. The just reward for his services rendered to his kinsman, your future lord, fair Coz!"
"But you said just now—" she stammered on the verge of tears, for the sudden sense of disappointment had been very bitter to bear.
"I said that Michael had been smitten with remorse, and had at first refused to take the money, but Lord Stowmaries soon overcame his scruples and—"
"Lord Stowmaries is a fool!" she interrupted hotly.
Sir John feigned great astonishment.
"A fool? For acquitting himself of a debt of honour?" he asked in tones of mild reproof.
"Ay! a fool, and thrice a fool," she reiterated with increased vehemence, for she was no gaby and was not taken in now by Cousin John's blandness. He had divined her thoughts, and guessed something of her aborted plans; there was no occasion therefore to subdue her annoyance any longer. "An Michael Kestyon was such a dotard as to refuse a fortune," she continued, "why should my lord Stowmaries be the one to force it upon him. Nay! The whole bargain was iniquitous or worse. Ridiculous it was of a truth—one hundred and twenty thousand pounds to a man who would have done the trick for so many pence. I marvelled at you, Cousin, for lending a hand to such wanton waste and did my best to circumvent your folly, but thanks to that dolt Daniel Pye, and apparently to my lord Stowmaries' idiocy, Michael Kestyon is now in possession of the means whereby he can divest the cousin who paid him so well not only of his title but of all his wealth. A blunder, Cousin, an idiotic, silly blunder," she added as she jumped to her feet, unable to sit still, tramping up and down the room like a raging wildcat, lashing herself into worse fury by picturing all the evils which the unfortunate business would bring in its train, chief amongst these being my lord Stowmaries' undoing, for which she really cared naught only in so long as it affected her own prospects.
"The silly adventure is already the talk of the town; the king has asked to see Michael Kestyon. Bah! The man sold his kingdom, the liberty and dignity of England for a sum not much larger than what Michael can now offer him for a favourable decision in a peerage claim. Ye saints above! what fools men are! what blind, blundering, silly fools, the moment they begin to prate of honour!"