Fanny or Ursula? Why not? The woman whom conventionality had in some sense ordained that he should marry. Why not?
Surely 'twas for him to thank conventionality for this kind decree.
But the Lady Ursula Glynde!
When did he last hear that name? Surely it was on that Spaniard's lips half an hour ago, accompanied by a thinly veiled, coarse jest and an impudent laugh.
But his "Fanny!"—that white-clad, poetic embodiment of his most exalted dreams! Those guileless blue eyes—or were they black?—that childlike little head so fitly crowned with gold!
No! no! that was his "Fanny," not the other woman, whom the Queen was even now upbraiding for immodest conduct.
Now she was speaking . . . stammering . . . denying nothing. . . . Where was that Ursula Glynde? . . . the other woman . . . she who was false and wanton. . . . "Fanny" was pure and sweet and girlish. . . . Ursula alone was to blame. Where was she?
"Has the Marquis de Suarez dared . . ."
It was her voice. Why did she name that man?
She knew him then? . . . had met him at East Molesey Fair? . . . she did not deny it . . . she only asked if he had dared . . . whilst the Spaniard had said, with a flippant shrug of the shoulders, that the acquaintanceship had ripened into . . . friendship.