“And, therefore, you gave him my address at Turoy?”
Lady Teignmouth colored.
“Why not?” she asked evasively. “Colonel Dacre would be an excellent match. He is heir presumptive to a baronetcy; and has now a fine place and ten thousand a year. You might go farther and fare worse.”
“Still, there might have been drawbacks of which you knew nothing. Even if I had been engaged to Mr. Belmont, Colonel Dacre would have had no right to resent it.”
“You had refused him, then?” inquired the other curiously.
“Certainly not; he had never asked me.”
“Then it was your own fault.”
Lady Gwendolyn was silent. Lady Teignmouth was the last person in the world of whom she would have made a confidante.
Pauline peered into her face for a minute as if she would read her thoughts. But finding no enlightenment in the impassible face before her, she added:
“Anyhow, you will never persuade me that you might not have married Colonel Dacre had you chosen. Upon one point I claim to be infallible—I always know when a man is in love.”