"Good heavens! Why not?" asked Drake.
"Well, of course," she drawled slowly, but musically, "I know that Lord Angleford's marriage was a bad thing for you. It wouldn't be my fault if I didn't, seeing that everybody in London has been talking about it."
"Well, it's not a particularly good thing for me," Drake admitted; "but it's no reason why I should dislike any reference to my uncle or his wife."
"You don't bear her any ill will?" she asked.
This was extremely personal, especially coming from a stranger; but the lady was an American, with an extremely pretty face and a charming manner, and there was so much gentleness, almost deprecatory gentleness in her softly bright eyes, that Drake, somehow, could not feel any resentment.
"Not the very least in the world, I assure you," he replied. "My uncle had a perfect right to marry when he pleased, and whom he pleased."
"I didn't think you'd be angry with him," she said, "because everybody says you were such friends, and you are so fond of him; but I thought you'd be riled with her."
Drake laughed rather grimly.
"Not in the least," he said. "Of course, I should have preferred that my uncle should remain single, but I can't be absurd enough to quarrel with a lady for marrying him. He is a very charming man, and perhaps she couldn't help herself."
"That's just it—she couldn't," said the lady naïvely. "And have you been to see your uncle since you've been back?" she asked.