“If so, it’s an uncommonly bad one,” was the answer; “in fact, rotten. No, I wouldn’t have believed it of the girl—really, I wouldn’t.”
His father smiled slightly, but refrained from retorting: “What did I tell you?”
“And yet the other day,” he pursued, “she came in among us all, and we treated her as one of ourselves. Yet all the time she was scheming a plan of vulgar and most outrageous blackmail.”
“That’s the worst part of it,” said Wagram with some bitterness. “See what comes of thinking oneself too knowing. I could have sworn the girl was a good girl and honest; she had honest eyes.”
“Honest! You can’t mention the word in connection with that low-down, scheming, blackmailing brood.”
“Well, there you have me, father, I admit,” answered Wagram. “You advised me against them, and I took my own line. I sing small.”
“Oh, that’s no matter. The question is: What are we going to do? Take no notice?”
“I should send her the money.”
“What! Why, Wagram, it’s preposterous. Why, on your own showing the girl wasn’t hurt at all. A thousand pounds?”
“Still, I should send it. We shouldn’t feel it. I expect these people are in desperate straits, and I’ve known that enviable condition myself.”