“In that case she ought to marry, and take the responsibility off our shoulders, Colonel Dacre,” replied the countess, with more decision than she usually infused into her company manner. “I am sure you would hardly believe how worried I was by her numerous flirtations last season.”
“I should have fancied there was safety in numbers,” remarked her listener dryly.
“For her, perhaps; but I am afraid it only made it more dangerous for them. If this were a dueling age, Gwen would have a good many on her conscience, I fancy.”
“But, you see, men do not always care to risk their lives for a woman whom they know is trifling with them,” said Colonel Dacre slowly.
“Well, you speak very philosophically of love, as if it were a light feeling that helped you through a few idle hours, but was not likely to take any deeper hold.”
“You quite misunderstand me, I assure you. I think love a terrible thing, and pity those who fall into it, with all my heart.”
“While taking warning by their example,” insinuated Lady Teignmouth, smiling.
A quick flush passed over the colonel’s face. The significance of her manner made him tremble for his secret, which he feared was in very unsafe keeping. He hastened to deny the “soft impeachment” in self-defense.
“Exactly. As a mere looker-on I can judge the question dispassionately, which would not be the case, supposing my feelings were implicated.”
This time her ladyship laughed outright. She evidently thought his logic rather defective. Then, becoming suddenly grave, she said: