Bertie flushed the slightest in the world.
"I regret to say that I have, my lord. No one can regret it more than I do. I know that I should have come to you first, and have gained permission to place myself at your daughter's feet. But the depth of my devotion must plead for me; may I hope that it will? We are all, the best of us, the slaves of impulse. There are times when the heart asserts itself and enslaves the will, which, perhaps for years, has bidden its voice be silent, as mine has done."
The earl bowed.
"May I ask," he said, "in what way Lady Ethel received your advances?"
"I found that, for once, true love had won its best return."
"She consented, do you mean?"
Bertie bowed.
"Then, doubtless, Mr. Fairfax," said the earl, as softly as ever, "you were kind enough to place her in possession of facts of which I am in ignorance?"
Bertie did not understand, and looked as if he did not.
"In such matters as this," said the earl, "it is best, as you say, to speak with candor. I refer to your position in the world, and your ability to keep Lady Boisdale in the society which, all my friends tell me, she so greatly adorns."